Sleeping Beauty
by kawaiisuzu
Summary: Sci-fi AU Senior doctors take specialist Tezuka Kunimitsu to see famous test subject T3N541, a medical miracle frozen in time 84 years ago at the age of sixteen. If Tezuka can wake Fuji from his coma, longstanding global reputation is his, and then some
1. Arc 1: Assignment

**Disclaimer- If I owned Prince of Tennis, than I highly doubt the action sequences would have been so action-y. **

Full Summary- [AU Future Universe where medical advances have progressed and people are starting to treat serious cases of long standing comas, as well as medical mysteries previously unsolved Tezuka Kunimitsu is a young medic student on the fast lane for securing worldwide recognition in his research of coma and his outstanding charity work in cases of later rehabilitation for amnesic individuals.

Impressed, senior doctorates in the field take him to see infamous test subject T3N541, a medical miracle frozen in time 84 years ago at the age of sixteen. If Tezuka should be able to awaken the long sleeping young man by the name of Fuji Syusuke, then a secured spot in medical history is his. Looking upon the medical legend's true face, Tezuka is overcome with shock and an unknown feeling at just who the person behind the heartbreakingly beautiful features really is. Little does he know the relationship that binds him and T3N541 will soon be more than just a genius doctor and comatose patient…

**Warnings: This fiction will be mildly shonen-ai (I can't believe I'm writing that either), and be warned of later angst and drama. **

**Suzu- Wow…I surprise myself in that I'm writing a 'Tennis no Ouji-sama' fic, but it was inevitable really. I loved the anime series a lot, though I've just barely dabbed in the manga. I'm a total Fuji fan, and as more time went on, I decided to check out a humorous Tezu/Fuji centric fic. It was wonderfully written, and thus my love for this pairing was sealed. **

**This is probably going to be a three-shot; with two arcs being 'Asleep' and 'Awake'. The first is 'Assignment'. I'm not really sure on every aspect of plotline, but we'll see how it goes. **

NOTE: For some reason, people never got rid of glasses in the future. Tezuka still has them. Heh, heh.

**There will be a lot of dialogue in Chapter One, but it will be important to understand. **

……………………………………………………………..

Sleeping Beauty

Assignment

Arc One

…………………………………………………………….

"_Tezuka Kunimitsu"_

A young man pushed patented old-world eyeglasses up his nose. It was somewhat rare to see a person wear spectacles in this day and age, but his traditional parents had insisted, and the habit had stuck.

His eyes were bad from birth, and the medical world insisted all young boys wear until the age of thirteen lenses of glass framed in wire, hoping there was no need for contacts or serious laser surgery until the retina adjusted itself in time.

"_Tezuka Kunimitsu to see Dr. Sawada" _

He had grown so used to the glasses, and even, as some people declared, grown an odd fondness for them. His mother seemed to think he looked good enough in them, and his father said somewhat wryly that _his_ father had worn them until death.

His many female acquaintances at college and part-time office gushed and declared they accented a striking, stoic-but-handsome face of a exceptional twenty five year old medic student with achievements far beyond his years.

"_Tezuka Kunimitsu to see Dr. Sawada. Room 213, West Wing." _

That was the cue, as voiced by the young lady on the intercom.

Said Tezuka Kunimitsu rose from the new prototype of synthetic glass/plastic chairs and tugged absently at the collar of his formal chemise one more time before walking briskly away from the second small reception room of the hospital's western building to the flight of staircases leading to the upper floor.

This was the International Hospital of Neurological Disorders, fourth largest on the globe focusing on comas and post-traumatic amnesia. Bullet-proof windows gleaming undauntedly from the stainless promise of renovated titanium coating and too many workers washing the panes three times a day boasted much on the exterior of the hospital. Inside, the employees liked to brag a little about the newest computer-simulated technology as well as comfortable quarters…that is, if you liked icy white hard plastic. All the hard cases were brought here, as well as privileged upper class suffering from this or that. Serving also as a leading research center on the European continent, Tezuka was feeling just a tad miffed at being called over here as a special guest on last minute business call.

Just a tad.

Rows of important looking office doors, more cramped together than the spacious ground floor, bore golden plaques at the entrances. The whole uniformity of it all fit well with Tezuka's character. His left hand gripped more tightly the black leather of his portfolio case, containing an impressive resume for one the mere age of twenty five in the global medical community.

Dr. Sawada was a friend of his father's. They were, unknowingly, college mates in Japan, and had met at the business firm a few years back on the case of abortion rights. Starting out as foes, both had decided the conflict was better off left alone for a while, lest both get kicked out of their respective companies.

"Yudan sezu ni ikou" _Let's not get careless. _

It was more habit now to whisper this before doing something slightly less trivial. Back when he'd worked with a group in university projects in Germany, he'd often taken the lead and reminded others of the important breakthroughs they were making, which would likely be affecting millions of lives. Some of the guys grinned at this famous Kunimitsu line, while girls cooed over him.

Tezuka shrugged off a feeling of foreboding as he found room 213 and knocked politely on the polished wooden grains of the door.

"Come in…"

He pushed open the door and stepped inside a carpeted room. A desk was at the other wall, with a balding middle-aged man sitting in a large swivel office chair. Tezuka eyed the plush linings enviously, having sat on nothing without bruising his backside all day.

He greeted the older man in Japanese, and the occupant of the room turned around with some surprise in his well-featured face. Tezuka could see how age had wrinkled and rounded off the facial tissue, but Dr. Sawada still showed a promising headstrong gaze.

"Ah, Tezuka-san! You know, it's been ages since I've said that name…only, it was to your father!" The doctor smiled benignly, and Tezuka nodded his head in acknowledgement of amicable relationship. Most people might find the way Tezuka Kunimitsu's russet eyes gleamed feral and cold, but really…it's not like he could help it. He'd been brought up that way.

"Hai. I flew all the way from my research meeting in Japan to hear this, Doctor." Tezuka sat down in the empty chair next to a large cabinet stuffed with filed papers.

"Oh, all business. Just like your father." Sawada reached over to the desk to grab a nearby clipboard, and his other hand snatched a ballpoint pen in the breast pocket of his white lab coat. "Well, Tezuka-san, you know that the science board has been all aflutter from your recent achievements."

Tezuka could see where this was going. Another toady, ready to kiss up to make sure that he got a piece of future glory. The corner of his eye twitched.

"Especially since that recent article came out… what with you helping that poor pregnant woman and all." Sawada cleared his throat before continuing, looking Tezuka in the eye. "Don't get me wrong, Tezuka-san. But some other members of the board, including myself, believe you're still too young and inexperienced for that nomination you got for the Hawser Prize given out next year." [A/N: this is NOT meant to be a real prize. I made it up to serve the purposes of the story. Just think a little smaller than the Nobel Science Prize.

Okay, maybe he wasn't a toady.

"But… I have to say we're all impressed with your accomplishments, young man." Doctor Sawada flipped through the papers on the clipboard hurriedly, eyeing it in a cursory fashion. "I've looked this over, and I think you have real potential."

"Thank you, Doctor."

"Maybe even more than us old-timers."

Tezuka didn't reply to that one. He didn't know if it was a joke or a sarcastic jab. But the sharp look in the Doctor's eye showed he meant what he said.

"I'm still learning what I can," Tezuka replied finally.

"Learning from the best, too. Where are you going to school now…oh… Germany?" Sawada studied Tezuka's face intently.

The latter let no emotion slip. "Yes, right after I finish with some business in remodeling diagnosis on comatose patients in Japan."

The Doctor seemed to contemplate this. He fell unnaturally silent for a spell, riffling through the clipboard and making a mark with his pen now and then. Tezuka sat there, feeling oddly uncomfortable.

Tezuka took the chance to look around the whitewashed walls. Between business-like blank spaces, there will even more business-like certificates, awards, including, Tezuka finally noted, a gleaming Hawser Prize certificate pushed into the corner of the room. Tezuka was pretty sure it was one of the larger prizes this renowned man had received, so why hide it so?

Sawada caught Tezuka's stare. He looked ruefully at the certificate in the corner. His voice suddenly sounded tired. "That was the third Hawser Award they ever gave out. I know what you're thinking. Why is the certificate crammed into the corner, as if I'm trying to hide it? Well, Tezuka-san," Sawada muttered. "When you get to be as old as me, you look back on things and realize you're not proud of them anymore."

"In fact, you realize you're ashamed," the doctor whispered finally. Tezuka was beginning to feel somewhat interested, but he toned it down and decided not to pry. With the patience of a rock, he waited for the Doctor's next words.

"Oh, right. Tezuka-san…" Sawada paused, and licked his lips nervously.

"How badly do you want to be famous?"

Tezuka's expression remained blank. "Becoming famous is not the most important thing in life," he answered with monotone honesty.

Doctor Sawada passed a hand through his sparse head of hair. "Well…that's what I thought you'd say, though I was hoping for the opposite. It makes things easier that way…"

Tezuka was about to intone that the doctor wasn't quite making sense, but Sawada laughed wryly, holding a hand up to stop any protests.

"Okay, then…I understand your logic. Let's try this, then. How much do you want to help someone? _Genuinely help, when no one else can hope to do the job_?"

Tezuka was stumped. Becoming a doctor was something he'd thought of doing as a child. His father was a lawyer, his mother a traditional housewife as soon as she'd married. Tezuka was raised on the principle that whatever one did with life, they would have to do it to the best of their ability, really take that work to the next level.

Yet he never expected that question. Was it a matter of goodwill? Tezuka was about as pathos in the emotional sense as a log, as some of his peers liked to joke, but he'd always understood that doctors were _supposed_ to help people. To be the best kind of doctor, you were supposed to help people when no one else can lift a finger, right?

And Sawada was looking at him so intensely, as if questioning Tezuka's very soul, testing if he was _good_ enough. Good enough for whatever came next, whatever that was.

Inside the slightly musty room, next to history and records of past patients, past cases of people in need, Tezuka felt a little obligated.

"I suppose I would."

"Are you sure, Tezuka-san?"

"I mean, I want to be the best doctor I can."

Sawada sighed. "Tezuka-san, my colleagues and I feel your best move as an exceptionally talented medical student right now is to gather more experience. And I don't mean small charity projects, funding and patenting…I mean breakthroughs that may one day rival that of Galileo, Newton…you know. You may discover the penicillin for comatose patients."

Tezuka frowned slightly. "Is this about the Hawser Prize?"

Sawada looked surprised for a moment, as if he'd forgotten all about that. "No, no, dear boy. Well, in a way, it is. But we're talking past the Hawser Prize here. You could get the Nobel Prize for this, not to mention world recognition. Your name and picture would be in all the medical history books if we follow your course through right."

Tezuka leaned back in his chair. He felt a sense of duty to shape the world, but it really was starting to rub off on his nerves.

The Doctor leaned forward finally. "The reason I called you up here, Tezuka-san, is because I'm _impressed_. I've never seen such talent and a good head for medical science in years. Your father would have seen it too, if he weren't such a law nutcase." Tezuka was about to argue politely, but Sawada continued enthusiastically, yet seriously.

"My colleagues and I want to mold you into the next man who will lead the medical community. But first, you have to accept my guidance. I want to make sure you don't make the same moral mistakes that we all toyed with once."

Sawada looked grave. "This is God's world, Tezuka-san. No matter how much we will ever understand about this earth, there are things that none of us can ever even hope of comprehending."

Tezuka nodded, for good manner's sake. The tension crackled in the room, but Tezuka had never been much of a receiving rod for emotion.

"I want you to always remember that." Sawada's tone brightened a little. "Now, that you know your course, we're about to set sail…metaphorically speaking."

"What exactly do you suggest?" Tezuka asked.

The Doctor took a manila folder from the far side of the desk. "Let's see, here it is." He pulled out a couple sheets of white paper. "Your records here say that you've cured cases of post-comatose amnesia through psychological diagnosis as well as physical examinations to pinpoint neurological problems."

"I was lucky, Doctor."

"Nonsense. You were smart, and you know it." He sorted through more paper, and then seemingly caught sight of a small blue folder tucked inside the manila one.

"Ah," the Doctor said softly, as the tone in the room hushed down suddenly. "Ah."

Tezuka looked nonchalant. He understood what he had to do, probably quit the project in Japan or finish up as fast as possible, and then start racing down the path of glory as fast as a group of old doctors and their formulated hopes could take him.

"I don't know why this file is in here. Tezuka-san, are you up for a challenge?" Sawada inquired, his eyes swiftly flaring up full-brunt force at Tezuka.

Tezuka let silence confirm it, a determined stare radiating from behind his glasses.

Sawada took out the faded blue folder reverentially from the inside of the manila one. He carefully flipped it open, and Tezuka saw slightly discolored paper inside. The printing was still good, and Tezuka knew that, even years back, the whiteness of paper had been preserved up to a certain point by adding metallic elements to aid opacity. However, the print still looked worn.

"My late great-uncle worked on this project," Sawada explained. His face was unreadable as he looked at the first color printing of the small stack inside. Tezuka felt curiosity worm its way up his stomach.

"You probably shouldn't be even touching this kind of thing until a half-decade after you win some kind of grand medical prize, but I feel this experience would be invaluable to you." Sawada murmured almost to himself, leafing through. "This was a hushed up case, but you should have heard something about the concept, Tezuka-san."

"It's as if fate had stuck this folder in here…" Sawada took out the first sheet he'd been staring at, and handed it to Tezuka.

The younger medic looked it over. Small uniform font stared at him, revealing brief description, and even briefer formal statistics of the case. He could tell this was some sort of tragic coma case, in which some sort of government influence had not wanted a patient to die. Tezuka knew that while these sort of abnormal cases were his specialty, he'd never done anything quite like this before.

Tezuka's eyes fixed on a lone picture in the page. Tezuka had never been a romantic, or even slightly hormone driven his teen years. The picture covered about one fourth of the sheet, but once he saw it, Tezuka understood immediately why the author couldn't help but put it there.

He exclaimed a little in mild surprise.

The girl was incredible pretty, the picture of an angel. Strands of honey-caramel hair teased petal-soft looking pale skin, and long lashes looked like they would flutter any moment, revealing eyes the color one could only guess at from her comatose state. She looked like she were simply sleeping, but Tezuka could tell from the cold sort of beauty that emanated from that kind of serene expression that this was not your common fairytale maiden asleep and awaiting a kiss from Prince Charming.

Tezuka flipped the page over, looking at other sheets in the folder, and finding one in newspaper print. The headlines were in English, as well as the rest of the article, but Tezuka could make out the title fairly well.

'_Sleeping Beauty'_

It was ironically befitting, really. There was a smaller black and white version of the picture Tezuka saw on the other sheet fixed in the center of a small article filled with words.

Tezuka looked up from his newly found patient to see what Sawada was up to. The senior doctor had opened his lab top and voice-activated the 'net. He was currently browsing through PDF files, and seemed to find one and scroll down in interest.

"Tezuka-san, it's your lucky day. Scratch that, lucky week, no…month. Now I know why the board put that folder in your list of possible choices as a first big-shot assignment. This case just happened to have a sort of _one-hundred year birthday_ special exhibit the start of next month. A special dally on the coma case will take place in Berlin, where they moved the body over from Japan, along with tons of equipment for further research. It's opened to renowned scientists, doctors, therapeutics, qualified researching medical students, and any lucky bastard with enough wits and money to secure an exhibition invitation…excuse the language," Doctor Sawada announced grandly.

Tezuka twitched. "One hundred year birthday?" he said: a hint of incredulousness in his voice.

"Yes," Sawada nodded at the sheet with the picture Tezuka was still holding. "See him in the photo? He's going to be one hundred years old by the end of next month, being February, I mean."

Tezuka nearly balked, but the extremity of that facial expression was unbeknownst to his facial tissue.

"_**He**_ Don't you mean 'she'? The …subject doesn't _look_ one hundred," he commented instead.

Sawada nearly chuckled, but cut himself off with a serious undertone. "No, _he_ does not," the aging doctor agreed, clicking print on the lab top and thus securing a copy of special research exhibition times for him and Tezuka.

"Let me explain. First of all, that picture was taken around eighty and then some years ago." Sawada actually did chuckle at Tezuka's expression. The older man took the page he had printed from the printer slot in the side of the lab top. He handed Tezuka the freshly printed page, indicating the much better quality picture of the subject now, taken 84 exactly years later, the article said at the bottom.

The details were much richer in this photo. Tezuka could almost make out the individual strands that fell on the young _man_'s forehead. Err…_old_ man. A hundred… right. He would chastise himself for paying such attention to unimportant facts later.

"This man is one of the most teasing cases the medical community has ever had. You see, Tezuka-san, he fell into his present condition at the age of sixteen. No one thought he would wake up. Reputedly, some turn of events made it so that the government intervened and wanted to preserve his body for as long as possible."

Tezuka's mouth grew dry as he looked at the ethereally young and beautiful face. '_Human Body Preservation_'—wasn't that _illegal, _even now?

"They developed a technique to repress his thyroid, pituitary gland…the whole 'growing up' deal. Recent heavy monitoring of his body shows that hormone and other bodily maturity signs point to the fact that he will be around physical age of 25 next month. So you could say he only aged nine physical years in the span of one of our lifetimes. The funny coincidence is that records show this young man was a _leap year baby_ to begin with. "So he's twenty five next month, physically and technically, since he's only experienced twenty five February 29th's. Funny, ne?"

Tezuka's brain followed the calculations numbly. The very pretty young man in the picture was twenty-five, the same age Tezuka was himself. His coma seemed to have robbed him of so many years, in which the 'sleeping beauty' had only theoretically felt pass by swiftly, leaving no near trace on the body.

"What happened? Was it trauma, or an untimely accident?"

Sawada shook his head thoughtfully.

"You see, Tezuka-san…no one really knows. My great-uncle thought it was stress. That exceptionally feminine young man you see there…well, I read in my great uncle's medical journal that the government had nearly forced the medics to try and save this boy. Supposedly, this young man was exceptionally gifted, and could not be afforded as a loss. He had no scars on his body when brought in, and so the only thing to do was carefully monitor and stabilize his metabolic processes in the lab."

Dr. Sawada continued. "Besides…no one was complaining about it. Everyone doing research then wanted to know what had occurred in this incident. More than that…we want to try and wake this boy up."

Tezuka swallowed. Nearly a century had passed since the subject patient had last emitted consciousness. What would it be like to wake up in a whole new world, with your family gone and possibly only descendants you've never seen before as relations?

Sawada seemed to guess at what Tezuka was thinking. "We still want to wake him up, Tezuka-san. Now do you understand what we want you to do?"

"I think so. This is an ideal time to try a medical diagnosis and see if we could make a breakthrough."

"Exactly. And just in time for an _early_ graduation from medical school, too. We want to boost your career as fast as possible. The research exhibition is actually a diagnosis test in disguise. Everyone will be trying to crack the medical mystery. This is a lifetime chance, to see a special case patient like this one. All you have to do is just be there, maybe help a tiny bit in formulating a plan to wake up our 'Sleeping Beauty' here." Sawada laughed a little at the nickname.

"Just think, Tezuka-kun. If you manage to share some spotlight, and if every scientist there _does_ manage to take a step forward on easing the century-year old human from long term coma, then medical history is _yours_."

Tezuka felt slightly annoyed at the change in honorifics, and so quickly, too. Although-- the doctor had a good point. It seemed that this was a chance served to him, Tezuka Kunimitsu, on a silver platter. Well, this time, it was more of a white coffin-like platter serving up a brain-dead patient…but no matter.

If Tezuka could help it, this _young man_ was going to be brain-dead no more. Perhaps an electrical jolt would do the trick, though Tezuka hardly thought it would be that easy if scientists had been scratching their heads for nearly a century. Sooner or later, though, the world would come into his grasp, if he solved this.

"We'll be discussing this at length in two days, Tezuka-kun." Dr. Sawada pushed himself in his chair across the room, to pick up a mini-calendar and start marking it up. "You can hurry back to Japan tonight, cancel some of your later appointments with the press over there, and fly to your college in Germany."

"Hai."

"I'll come personally to pick you up from there…oh, let's say, in about 50 busy hours. We'll talk on the car ride, and make it to the medical center in Berlin in time for the first hints of the exhibition, err…gathering of aspiring medics…let's say."

Tezuka looked at the innocent-seeming face in the picture. This man, the same physical age as him, would be the key to Tezuka's future. The face in the photo was totally oblivious to the effect it would have on future political sciences.

Perhaps Tezuka would need to know the name of his benefactor?

"Doctor, what is his name?"

Dr. Sawada was busy walking around the room excitedly, seemingly already deciding on what to pack and what to leave here. "What?" he asked. "Oh, you mean that man's name? Hmmm…the research team seems to dub him 'Sleeping Beauty' in correspondence to the tag line they put on him when the case first reached small newspapers."

"I know that, Doctor."

Sawada rubbed his chin, thinking. "His file name, I believe, is T3N541, which is… _formally_… what we should refer to him as."

Tezuka remained seated, watching as the Doctor hurried around the room again, circumventing the desk before settling on a pile of papers to go over again.

"No, Doctor. I meant: what is his real name?"

Sawada looked down at Tezuka as if slightly shocked that he would ask such a question. "His real name? His _real_ name?" After blinking several more times, Sawada tugged on his collar before answering.

"Well…the government didn't leak information out, but my great uncle did find out for himself, eventually. I read it in his diary, which I inherited upon becoming a PhD myself. You see, Tezuka-kun…we usually don't like to get personal in this career field." Sawada looked nervous as he analyzed Tezuka once-over.

"I just felt the need to ask."

Sawada sat back down on the swivel chair with finality. He put the clipboard he'd been holding down, and tapped the pen against the wood of his desk.

"Well, since you are being such a big help, and we will be working together for a while after this…I suppose you should know what I know about your case patient."

Tezuka tucked his black leather portfolio under an arm, ready to end the meeting with the Doctor, and ready to start a new assignment with a certain kind of dignified relish.

"This young man's name is Fuji… Fuji Syusuke."

Tezuka glanced over at the frozen still-life that was the photo again. The name fit. He stood up to shake Sawada's hand before taking leave.

The older man's eyebrows rose as he eyed Tezuka. His mouth opened: "Tezuka, you're not…?" He cut himself off abruptly. The Doctor stood up, and gripped Tezuka's hand firmly before giving it a shake.

"My boy, don't get attached. All you need to do is wake him up. Don't be upset if you can't control things after that. Your personal career will be established," Sawada said, a warning glint in his eye.

Tezuka was usually not on the receiving end of cautious advice. He was the one doling it out, most of the time.

"I know."

The doctor patted him on the shoulder. "Good, then."

……………………………………………..

End _Assignment_

NOTE:

The Hawser Prize is NOT meant to be a real prize. I made it up to serve the purposes of the story. Just think a little smaller than the Nobel Science Prize.

I thought it would be fun to have Fuji be actually one hundred years old (let's say he was put into 'frozen' state on his sixteenth year of living—thus technically four years old—and then in a coma eighty four more years, where the government slowed down the process of his thyroid so aging would much slower than normal. **Thus, currently, Fuji's body is also around 25 years old, as well as his status as a leap year baby.**) Plus, did you see how his medical code name, 'T3N541', can be roughly seen as 'TENSAI'? lol.

Bombard the authoress with your comments, please?

Ja ne,

Suzu


	2. Arc 1: Asleep

**Disclaimer- Both characters Fuji Syusuke and Tezuka Kunimitsu belong to Konomi-san. **

Please don't take the sci-fi universe too seriously. I'm in no way whatsoever experienced in breaking edge medical knowledge, nor really any neurological studies. This is a work of FICTION.

**The casualness of some people in this piece of fiction versus the supposed atmosphere of real operations is not my forte and not in my knowledge field… so it'll read a little like vaguely in some places. My apologies. **

**Also, what I said before, that this was going to be a three-shot, might not apply anymore, since it some parts, as I write them out, will be far too rushed if I don't elaborate and chop up arcs into more chapters. It's not going to be a really long series, though.**

* * *

Sleeping Beauty

Asleep

Arc I

* * *

The room was opened after all security wires and motion sensors were put on SAFE. The team hired to remove the body were professional, but they were each a little miffed to have been called in order to de-lock the storage room of a nearly century old human body.

"My god, Lewinski, it's freezing in here."

The other man rubbed his beard as he laughed, breath creating a mist of water vapor in the air. "Them scientists like to keep it nice and cold for ol' sleepin' beauty here."

Irma, a relatively new member on their team, cracked a smile. "That's what they call him, right? This man from _Nihon_. You know, boss, it's a man!"

"Yeah, sure. Lewinski showed me a picture they took a while ago. Mighty pretty guy, even if he were a girl…ha hah."

All eyes strayed to the shiny frosted metal case in the middle of the sealed room. Several members gasped, and Lewinski whistled.

"Guys…guys, it feels like we're excavatin' an Egyptian tomb here."

"Naw…those Egyptian government feds would have stopped us a long time ago. Wanna preserve their history, they do."

Irma stepped up to the coffin-like structure first. There was a glass shield over the upper portion, but it didn't allow for a good view of the young man inside due to the frosted over sections. She contemplated tapping on the freezing glass good-humoredly, but then stopped, deciding not to cut off circulation to her finger after all.

"How does he stay alive in there, Boss?"

"Oh, they feed him through those new and improved systematic IVs. Regulated by a big computer in the better section of the hospital, I reckon."

"The healthy diet for so many years must be the reason why he's so pretty! No obesity factors, no cholesterol, no teenage acne…no exposure to unwanted laxatives!"

"Shut up, Lewinski."

The team set up their equipment from there. Irma sighed wistfully about how hard it must be to in a comatose state for nearly a century, and nearly everyone in the room tried to snuggle tighter into their thick overcoats and jumpsuits.

"Didn't the administration people want him in Berlin by tomorrow? Some exhibition, I think."

He tapped the metal of the coffin-stand to hear a ring muffled by his gloves. Still…it was quality metal ore…and it was heavy.

"Shit, man…we better get moving, then."

* * *

_28 hours later February 28__th__. Leap Year. _

"Delighted to meet you, Mr. Seacrest," Sawada smiled for what felt like the umpteenth time around the room. In reality, as Tezuka had not failed to note, there were only twenty six select individuals on the observation deck, including himself. The President of one of the largest medical institutions on the continent, a few brilliant doctors, theologists, and other esteemed persons who had no doubt traveled far to view this medical breakthrough. For all that this was a hushed up case, Tezuka could see the most avid minds globally that dealt with comas could not keep themselves away from T3N541.

The white room was bare but fashionably designed. One wall and ceiling, as well as part of the floor were made of thick glass. It offered a pristine view to the massive blank white room to which the whole set up overlooked. Their observation deck dangled overhead. Across was an operating crew, in the other box-like observation deck. Apparently, the crew was in charge of running temperature settings and electrical impulses to the patient T3N541. The test to wake the subject was underway, and counted as much on the doctors' thesis and guidance as well as the team of technical staff.

A large table-like platform was in the center. Tezuka stole a quick glance as large coffin-like box was wheeled in by a team of people in white suits.

Shortly after, Sawada cleared his throat. "Ah…ladies and gentlemen, the patient has arrived. I'm sure you've all familiarized yourselves with the medical history behind this young man. After Tezuka-san here had perfected his latest treatment for long-term comas--" Sawada paused and acknowledged the warm applause given to Tezuka at this—"We're eager to try out this method and more to wake our, let's say, _sleeping beauty,_ here, on his 100th birthday."

The people chuckled politely at the affectionate nickname for the patient.

They collected near the glass wall, all straining for the historic moment in which the lid of the coffin-like storage for the body would snap up and they'd get a look inside. Tezuka could see the white coated figures underneath the observation deck scrambling to hook up electrical circuits and other wires and IV's, presumably to measure the metabolically stable status of the patient before they were charged with murder in case something went wrong.

A pretty, young Japanese female in a cream colored suit sidled up to Tezuka. She smiled appreciatively at him, and Tezuka nodded back politely. This was probably the aspiring daughter of one of the CEOs of a major medicine related business. What was her name again?

"Good to meet you, finally, Tezuka Kunimitsu-san. I'm Tsukaido Ayame. Pleased to be working with you. _Onegai shimasu_," she added breathily in Japanese.

A business deal. With an extra added seduction factor. Tezuka stood his ground. This was going to be just a lovely long 24 hours working with these people.

He kept his eyes fixed on the scene below as they finished installing hardware and shock absorbers. On the other side of their observation deck, Sawada and a few helpers were connecting the wireless intercom with the other observation deck. That way, they would be able to communicate at will.

"I've got the heart beat readings as well as basic brain activity impulse on the back screen now," a man said. "Normal."

Tezuka watched calmly as the white-coated figures finished their work and hurried back to the far corner of the large white room. The size of a ballroom, Tezuka noted, with high vaulted ceilings. When T3N541 woke, if he woke, the huge expanse of the room would truly mock his royal, 'princess' conditions. As the last of the figures disappeared into side doors, the intercom buzzed to life.

"**One two three, testing,"** a cheery voice sounded overhead. It was in English. No matter, since everyone here was more or less fluent. **"This is Sam,"** the voice said casually. **"All systems go over there?"**

"Yes," Sawada spoke into the ceiling.

"**Good. Nice working with everyone."**

Tezuka eyed the flushed faces, the wide eyes, and the nervous pacing in the room. He knew why they were acting that way, too.

If this failed, the government could be on their heads for legal matters about the morality of the human preservation in the first place. The people gathered here today would leave with the knowledge of an unaccomplished deed.

If they succeeded, the stakes were higher—much higher. There would be debates over citizenship, humane rights, not even mentioning adaptation and assimilation into the world that was 84 years into the future for T3N541. They would still have to fight through charges all the same.

"_Anou_… Tezuka-san? What are the chances of this working?" Ayame asked from his side.

"84.5 percent in favor" Tezuka replied.

"We're going to be in deep shit if this actually works, aren't we?" she whispered, all faux feminine act gone as it dawned on her.

Tezuka silently agreed.

Sam over the intercom gave them a loud countdown. They were to remove the top of the casket in precisely 60 seconds. The digital lock would spring open, and they'd have a clear view of the 100-year-old body inside.

"**We have gotten past the prickly, tangly briar thorns, everybody,"** Sam said in mock seriousness. **"Now we must climb up that tower to the highest room and experiment on how we should kiss dear sleeping beauty to make him wake up."**

The people gathered all laughed. Sweat shined on some members of the team, despite the carefully air conditioned facilities. Others wrung their hands, or stared fixedly at the monitors around the room.

They knew they would have to battle the dragon that was the international community later.

* * *

"**Ten**

**Nine**

**Eight**

**Seven**

**Six**

**Five**

**Four**

**Three**

**Two**

**One**

**Ladies and Gentlemen, here's one of the best looking old guys you'll ever meet!" **Sam cheered happily as the metal top of the casket opened with a mechanical whirl, releasing who knows what kind of gases. It was all a little cryptic. Tezuka had watched only 5 science fiction movies in his life. The mechanical gizmos and elaborate set ups were startlingly unreal next to his real life expertise. But this operation was any but real life. In real life, doctors as young as he were not invited to shock into life prettier, older male figures who were stuck in situations similar to Mary Shelley's Frankenstein.

When the smoke cleared, Sawada and some other experts had a video feed of T3N541's face and upper torso linked with another monitor in the room.

Ayame saw the test subject and gave a wicked little gasp. Tezuka looked at the high-resolution image warily.

The alabaster skin and feminine features were all there; preserved with no flaws. Tezuka had been unable to get that hauntingly pretty face out of his head ever since he saw those pictures in Sawada's office. What would a person with such physical perfection be like personality wise? Why did the government go into such trouble to preserve him, anyways?

The girl next to him, her cheeks a little flushed and rosy, said breathlessly probably what most people in the room were thinking. "He's not really a girl right? So pretty!" she squealed.

Her father chuckled. "Yes, you'll be calling him _ane-san_ next, Ayame-chan." (A/N: ane-san is a respectful term for an older sister figure)

Ayame flushed. "Otou-samaaaa…" she pouted.

The intercom buzzed again.

"**Okay, everyone. We'll load the series of steps you've all come up with prior in order to give a jolt to his brain condition. Is that showing up on the computer monitor?"**

"Yes" several people spoke up.

"**Good. Some of my assistants here are just analyzing some of the heavy equipment and we'll follow up with your plans."**

Tezuka felt Mr. Seacrest tug on his suit. "Tezuka-san" he said heavily with an accent, "Let's get you to one of the main operating computers so you can supervise actively."

Tezuka obeyed. The five or so people already crowded around the operating computers gave way to make Tezuka a seat, and the youth sat down on one of the hard-backed chairs to stare at the readings on the screen.

Tezuka felt Mr. Seacrest lean over to look out the wavelengths and brain simulations on the computer screens. He whistled.

"Technology these days… 100 billion neurons in the brain and we're allowed to peek in at every one of them. This is almost like reading someone's mind."

"Almost. An effective stimulus would be needed to actually find straightforward answers to a person's psychology," a woman in her late 50's chided. "Otherwise, it's extremely immoral to strip a person of total privacy."

"As long as it's for a beneficial cause," Tezuka stated blandly. "Let's just not get careless."

They all stared at the large, slow, regular brainwave patterns on the main monitor, which signaled anesthesia, a dreamless sleep, or coma. The frequencies of oscillation in the electroencephalograph showed that T3N541 was in more or less a common resting sequence.

Psychoactive drugs had not worked for the last few years of testing, but advancements that had occurred in the last half a century were untried.

And the predicted success rate was startlingly high.

Tezuka's hands remained loyally perspiration free. He just wanted to know why this time and place, why now, why him, why this morally questionable operation. He inhaled.

"I would propose a variation of the DBS treatment," Tezuka said into the intercom. "We have all necessary electrodes attached, correct?"

"**Yep,"** said Sam. **"Deep Brain Stimulation it is. You know, they gave a crude form of that treatment to my great grandfather when he had Parkinson's."**

* * *

"_Syusuke, it'll be okay."_

"'_Nee-san, why are they doing this again?" _

"_For you… everything is for you."_

"_Sou desu ka?" Is that so?_

"_You know this is a special case. A chance, Syusuke—a chance to better medicine and help father's company, even the world. We're all so proud of what you can accomplish if this goes well…and Father will be so happy…"_

_Blank, blank sheets, surrounded by blank, blank walls. _

"_It might as well be me," he said. _

_A radiant smile bloomed on his face, and his sister's eyes widened before she looked away fearfully._

_A pause. _

"_Saa, I'll see you soon, after all this, ne?" _

"_Hai." She couldn't keep her voice from quivering. "Yes… yes you will, Syusuke, I know I'll see you again."_

"_Saa… Did Mom tell Yuuta?" _

_She shook her head. "Not everything."_

"_Good. It's not his fault I have to… go to sleep for a while," he picked his words carefully, just in case a bad omen would fall if he faltered in his determination to get through this situation._

_Blank, blank tiles contrasted with her pink suede boots. "It's better than the other choice, Syusuke." _

"_Of course." _

_He smiled with his lips. _

"_Of course it's better to do this." _

_He stared at the blank, blank sky he liked to call the white ceiling, and smiled and smiled. _

_And waited. _

* * *

Half the people in the room Tezuka was in expected to see the long, rhythmic waves on the monitor change to the spiked, short waves seen when the brain is alert, and consciousness takes control again.

After nearly thirteen hours, no one was in a good mood. Ayame was fast asleep on a chair. Several people had already gone to take a much-needed coffee break, but some others had claimed utter devotion to their work and stayed to stare at the monitor and pray the procedure worked.

"You'd think he didn't want to wake up," someone declared.

Tezuka couldn't exactly pinpoint whose voice it was. He didn't want to admit it, but after so many hours, even he couldn't handle it entirely. The room swam uncomfortably when he looked away from the computer. When Tezuka tried to move his digits on the keyboard, they sometimes remained stubbornly numb.

A chair wheeled its way to Tezuka. Sawada held in his hand a cup of steaming black liquid, while sipping his own.

"Here, Tezuka-san. Some espresso."

Tezuka willed himself to face Sawada. When was the last time he'd had something to drink, or eat? This was probably not healthy, and not good for the patient who he controlled now with a click of a button and a press of a command on the keypad.

Tezuka dragged himself stiffly to face Sawada. He saw in the older man's face rings of fatigue under the eyes, and defined lines around the mouth. Tezuka wondered if his eyes were that hazy as well.

His senses honed in on his hand as Tezuka willed his arm to rise and reach for the mug. Each slender finger seemed to have a hard time gripping on to the heavy, smooth ceramic.

An eternity seemed to pass as Tezuka carefully gripped the coffee mug from the point of Sawada's hand to his mouth and then desk. All the while, he cursed himself blankly with half a heart. How could he let himself become so absorbed in his work that he forgot about keeping himself totally awake and thus compromised the successful completion of the task at hand? He usually took regular breaks at intervals for his other patients.

Tezuka didn't want to say it was because that person's face rather haunted him. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see a projected image on the back of his eyelids. Understandable…really, since this really was a medical kismet that many would give their eyeteeth to take advantage of.

His hand began to tremble violently as he held the hot coffee in the air.

Tezuka was about to assist with his other hand when the next series of events occurred without warning.

Later, he would look back at the improbability of the moment.

The speakers went off with a blaring beep as the intercom buzzed.

The normally minor disturbance made Tezuka's fingers let go of the handle of the mug.

Vainly, he tried to wrest the cup onto the surface of the desk, but only succeeded in dumping the steaming hot contents onto the main controls, that is, the larger expanse of buttons and switches that was slightly to the right of the computer screen.

Not even his half registered surprise or Sawada and his colleague's widened eyes could have prepared for the sluggish sound as one of the monitors blanked out overhead.

_Yudan sezu ni ikou _

What good was that phrase when the damage was already done?

* * *

_For the future… that was the justification they gave him over and over again._

"_Don't be afraid, Fuji-kun. We're all behind you," the man with the blank, blank face said. _

_The youth didn't mention to the doctor what would happen if he woke up and they were all dead already. _

_He chuckled inside instead, as they gave him the first shot in a long series._

* * *

"Are you watching this? ARE YOU SEEING WHAT I'M SEEING?!" Seacrest was on his chair, pointing madly at one of the working monitors that showed a diagram of the brain, and what parts of T3N541's brain were currently working.

Ayame had been woken by the shouts and commotion. Even Tezuka was slightly shaken by the pandemonium. All eyes were fixed on the same image, as colorful sectors of the patient's brain flicked to life.

Sam's voice came on in a rush at the same instance.

"**Er…everyone. Everyone, I think that last voltage was really high. It might have fried something unnecessary, but it did the trick, didn't it?" **

Sam's voice sounded strained, disbelieving, and fantastically elated all at once. The man on the intercom blubbered gibberish for a few seconds. Tezuka kept his mouth firmly shut for fear of the same side effects in his speech capabilities.

"**Uhh…who did that anyway? I wasn't quite sure what it was, but one of my helpers was just twiddling with the sound system, and than WHAMO! Who knows… some electronics hummed off, and others came on…and here we are."**

"Yes, here we are," A woman agreed, chuckling lightly, before it turned into an uncontrollable giggle.

People were smiling now, Tezuka noted. Sawada, Seacrest, and many others stared at the said monitor and grinned to no end. There were others patting each other on the back, toasting with their coffee mugs.

The monitor showed the digital picture of the subject's brain from a bird's eye view. As long as one portion of the brain was active, it would become highlighted. To many of the neuro experts in the room, they could tell by a glance which part of the brain was now working, and what part of the consciousness was running. The tiny highlighted areas showed that the imaginative portion of the brain was now functioning pretty much normally. A very prominent start.

Tezuka let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He didn't want to know the improbability factor of that happening. A mug of coffee and an unfortunate accidental spill? That stuff usually only led to malpractice lawsuits and unwarranted deaths. He would have to calculate the exact shock and energy sent to stimulate the patient's brain later.

"**Should we continue with one of your extensive step-to-step procedures for treating normal patients now? I have the one that was written by a Kunimitsu Tezuka a month ago. It looks rather good."**

All eyes turned to Tezuka, whose glasses had slipped halfway down the bridge of his nose as his eyes remained firmly locked on the multicolored highlights in the brain diagram.

"Yes," Tezuka whispered.

The zoomed in image of T3N541's face showed serene calm. Somehow, Tezuka imagined that there was more life behind the cheeks and pale lashes now.

"**What? Didn't catch you there, buddy."**

"He said 'yes'," Sawada shouted up at the ceiling, excitement making his vocal chords sound shrill.

"**Okee-dokee. Our team here estimates about seven more hours before 'Sleeping Beauty' here wakes up from her beauty sleep."**

There then commenced a good deal of hugging and handshaking.

Luckily, Tezuka onlyparticipated in the _latter_.

* * *

_He dreamed he would be put in a blank, blank box. _

_The temperature would be well below body temperature, and there was hardly much to relate to, with the old fairy tale starring a female princess who was sleeping rather prettily in a downy royal bed. _

_But he dreamed. _

_And then he realized he dreamed. _

* * *

"Did you ever see a prettier sight?" Seacrest sighed loudly. Sawada joined him, and Tezuka could almost see the little droplets of unshed emotion at the corners of his eyes, nestling in the crow's feet there.

"Oh, I don't know. An aaaaactive braaaaaiiin is a beauuuuutiful thing!"

Somehow, the person who remarked that managed to turn his words into something of a mix involving flavors of bawdy drunken song and melodramatic sob story.

Tezuka reasoned they were riding through the crests of the caffeine.

"This guy's medical history is quite good. When he entered into coma, there weren't any physical problems. Rather, a sort of—mental condition," an elderly looking doctor whispered to Tezuka while the people around them behaved in what Tezuka deemed a very unprofessional manner.

The young doctor's interest was piqued.

"I was under the impression that it was post-traumatic stress," Tezuka said blandly in English.

The man shook his head, then looked nervous as he traced the nearest controls on the panel.

"No… no. Dr. Sawada didn't tell you, then?" The doctor averted his gaze. "You know, Sawada does have information on the personal case of this patient. More than any practitioner might be allowed to have."

Tezuka didn't speak.

What the doctor said was true. Firstly, to know the name of the patient this early in the process was an uncommon thing. Many renowned doctors took it upon themselves to shun any personal information of the patient's from the outset, claiming that it created bias and an opportunity for faulty diagnosis.

"I don't know of any trauma…" the man sighed, idly scratching at his stubble now. "But I do know that T3N541 did have a unique disposition, let's say. His father was very influential in the country, as well as internationally. The rest of the family stayed in Japan, and tried to live normal lives as best they could. But people… people want to tap into resources they know they can exploit early on."

Tezuka moved to glance at the screen with T3N541's face on it.

The young man's face was still asleep, but Tezuka could see that it wouldn't be long before circulation sped back up to normal speed and the team of experts would bring Fuji Syusuke back into real time… flowing, moving time that equated every second of his time to every second of the outside world's.

His face was still breathtaking, Tezuka noted, even after staring at it for nearly a day straight now.

"Perhaps this whole coma business had more purpose than the usual case, Tezuka-san. I know you've had much medical expertise and dealt with many unique cases, but his is not a mere medical problem. This is a social issue as well as a psychological one. This whole patient's file breached legal standards as well as moral standards. Eighty years is a long time. I know from experience myself…" he chuckled.

Tezuaka put up a hand to stop the doctor. "Do you think it's wise to speak of this here… and to me, doctor?"

The elder sighed. "You are the closest age to the patient's physical body, Tezuka. And you have superb credentials." His European upbringing showed as the doctor failed to add the customary honorific after Tezuka's name.

"Personally, I don't think many of the more experienced doctors here are interested in T3N541's mental state once he's out of the coma. We're all going to be tied up with legal processings and trying to keep gossip off our backs. If this turns in our favor, we all get a little something to add to the history books. And the authorities from a century back get what they wanted in the first place—"

"What are two talking about there, Tezuka-san, Dr. Caraffa?" Sawada's voice carried from across the room.

Caraffa hastily pursed his lips and got up from his chair with a groan before shuffling away to converse with another medic.

Tezuka was left with unanswered questions and a ringing in his ears from fatigue.

There is the feeling where seconds turn into minutes, and minutes into hours…

The opposite happened to Tezuka and the rest of the people in that room, then. The hours before the final event shortened into minutes, minutes into seconds. It finally dawned upon them that the 'end' was imminent.

If monitors around the vicinity were not enough to confirm that T3N541 was truly being raised from a dead-like state in a mere matter of moments, then, and with this thought Tezuka looked around uneasily, the celebrating doctors who were currently doing '_kampai_'s with their coffee mugs gave off the correct vibe of hazy, ecstatic contentment.

The only regret Tezuka had was that he had forgotten to water his bonsai plant Marilyn when he had left his dorm what seemed like eons ago.

Oh, that and the fact that there would be hell with the feds and the publicists after Sleeping Beauty made it from her fairytale into the real world.

5 minutes until the final jolt would be given to the patient, who now couldn't be labeled comatose anymore due to the functioning state of his brain, all the people in the room busied themselves with checking monitors, adjusting switches, or talking eagerly with one another in rushed, slurred voices likely due to sleep deprivation.

Ayame had sidled up to Tezuka again, much to his dismay. Her father had even tried to do formal introductions, and dropped a few shameless hints here and there. Tezuka had politely intoned that despite the jovial atmosphere, their job wasn't done yet, and the patient should still be the top priority on all of their minds. This had caused Ayame's eyes to tear up in faux-happiness as she cooed ever more frequently over the young doctor Tezuka Kunimitsu, which in turn ruined his planned intention completely.

Even Sam was celebrating over the intercom.

He made a cheerful 'bzzzz' sound to mirror the exact moment the last stimulus was given to T3N541's brain.

And then it was over.

Their part of the work, that is.

All that was left was to wait.

'Sleeping Beauty' lay in his makeshift bed, looking his usual radiant albeit not-very-lively self. Most of the larger IV's and probes had been removed, leaving only minor wavelength reading devices that would not hinder the subject if he decided to suddenly lift off the bed in a dramatic waking sequence.

Once, a young girl Tezuka had been treating had arched so violently off her bed that she narrowly missed head-butting Tezuka in the nose.

Tezuka stared fixedly at the monitor, and when he wasn't staring fixedly at the monitor of T3N541's face, the back of his eyelids showed the same exact image anyways. He tried to tell himself it was simply nerves and the consequence of too many hours of overwork.

Any moment now.

* * *

_Fuji dreamed it was his 4__th__ birthday. Technically, it was his 1__st__ since his birth, so it was celebrated with great gusto by all the neighbors and immediate family. _

_Yuuta had been too young to be envious, and Fuji had been too young to be guilty over anything, so that birthday had probably been the best official one he'd ever had. _

_Yumiko-nee-san had baked her first cake, with a judicious amount of help from their mother. Father had called in from work, sounding painstakingly happy and measured as he congratulated a very young Syusuke. _

_A girl next door had even tried to kiss him, which earned laughter and applause from many of the people seated around the living room table sharing birthday cake. _

_He dreamt. _

_He could almost taste the sprinkles on the white frosting, almost remember the wasabi Yumiko had snuck in as a gag. _

_He dreamt he heard his father on the phone at midnight, calling him awake to recognize the date of his birth. _

'_Syusuke… Fuji Syusuke…'_

_Then Fuji's brain, funny enough, registered all that had happened on birthdays in subsequent years, followed up a mysterious event in which the birthdays suddenly stopped happening for an expanse of time, when the breaks in between had been even longer than the customary 4 years. _

_He dreamt his family was calling him awake to blow out the candles. Now…why would he be sleeping at a time like this? It wasn't like him to be asleep and show his defenselessness when the neighbors were crowded around the dining room and bid him make a birthday wish. _

_It was time to wake up._

_It was that day again. _

* * *

Activity in the brain spiked again.

A trigger that separated sleep from consciousness—true consciousness; seeing, feeling, eating, talking consciousness.

Everyone didn't have to be distracted from whatever they were doing at that moment, which was mostly celebrating, still. A portion of everyone's thoughts had always stayed attuned to the movements in the readings of brain syntax behavior monitor of the subject.

Several people cheered. Others clapped each other on the back, and then they all shuffled about hurriedly into

Dr. Sawada was lapping up the last drops of imaginary espresso from his empty cup, with his eyes squinting at the large motion sensor monitors to the side of the room. Occasionally, his nose would twitch, his eyes would dart to the large image of the patient's face, and a dazzled, vague smile would perch on his jaw.

Sam was playing nouveau age classical harpsichord jazz over the intercom now, as if to give a garish, 'look-at-us-caveman-we-are-from-the-future' welcome to the century year old Sleeping Beauty-san.

Tezuka's tired facial expression moved a fraction as his lips quirked into what might have been a smile, on any ordinary person.

Ayame discreetly took out a sleek new model of CryStalpiX© film from her jacket pocket and stuck it to her chair so that it would record the moment T3N541 awoke from his slumber on the monitor in front of the room, moment for moment. Her father beside her discreetly covered an admonishing cough in her direction, which she returned with a sultry smile and a shrug.

Tezuka glanced at his wristwatch, and then brought up the calendar function onto the display screen. It read:

_February 29__th_

"Happy birthday," he whispered as T3N541's eyelashes finally fluttered.

* * *

When Sawada saw the light brown lashes part and the long tresses of honey colored locks stir as T3N541 moved and shifted into a half-upright position after over eighty years, his hand went numb and the Styrofoam-blend cup he held in his hand dropped without a sound to the floor.

'_Shit_' he thought as his own dark brown eyes stared into the live feed monitor, stared at the intense blue of the orbs that gleamed just from the pixels on the screen.

The blue…no, not blue. More like a liquidized blue diamond; a stimulating, shocking color that sent goose bumps prickling up the doctor's arms.

The blue of T3N541's gaze seemed to naturally seek out the shielded, latest-model camouflage camera, as if omniscience was a trait one developed after a century in a box, although Sawada suspected it simply had to do the unique qualities of the subject himself.

The young man stared defiantly into the camera he could not have seen, with impossibly blue eyes and heartbreakingly serene features that hid latent potential, and smiled a predator's smile.

This was the young man his late great-uncle had fallen desperately in love with. These eyes were the ones that his late relative had pined away for all those research-laden years to see. It was almost worth the lifetime.

Only almost, Sawada tried to convince himself.

* * *

Fuji realized they would probably be watching him.

He opened his eyes for them, a party favor, an expression of grace, the color of his gaze a piercing cerulean blue as he smirked in a wickedly attractive fashion.

One smile for the birthday guests.

And one word of thanks.

To be polite.

Fuji opened his pale pink lips to speak.

"_Saa…_ _Sankyuu, minna-san_. Is everyone having fun?"

* * *

Everyone saw T3N541 mouth words on the monitor.

But what made Tezuka's breath hitch was the expression on the subject's face.

It wasn't ordinary, to say the least.

Impossibly blue orbs stared out from the long fringe of light brown lashes. A genetic mutation, perhaps? Normally, Japanese natives didn't had brown eyes, and any colored contacts would have been removed long ago.

The gaze was ice against the soft honey in the rest of the patient's features.

Ice and honey.

Cold and warm.

A dangerous mix, with a smile to wrap up the strangely _sensual_ expression on his face.

Tezuka gave silent sympathy to Ayame, who he heard give a soft moan of appreciation that was reminiscent of a fangirl otaku back in Japan. No doubt many in the room felt the same way.

* * *

_Don't you love the lies they tell_

_The priest is on the phone_

_Your father hit the wall_

_Your mother sold you_

_Don't suppose I'll ever know_

_What it means to be a man_

_If something happens to change, I look around and…_

_I wanna wake up where you are_

_I won't so anything at all_

_So why don't you slide…_

--'Slide' by Goo Goo Dolls

* * *

Suzu- This chapter would have been around or passed 7000 words if I didn't chop off the end. That's why I don't like the way I ended this chapter, since the real end was so much more dramatic… ah well. So, unfortunately, the story will not be a three-parter after all. I'm sad, but it's okay. I'll try to update quickly.

Right, and the Goo Goo Dolls quote lyrics will make more sense in the next chapters. All will be explained.

NOTE:

_Nihon-Japanese/Japan_

_(Yoroshiku) Onegai shimasu- Shortened version of 'please take care of me' sort of thing. The English equivalent would be something like: 'pleased to be working with you'. _

_Sou desu ka- Really/ Is that so?_

_Anou-Umm…_

_Ane-san-A respectful term for an older girl_

_Onee-san/nee-san-Sister_

Saa…-Aah…or a vague term such as: "we'll see" or "maybe" or "hmmm"

_Kampai-Cheers_

_Sankyuu, minna-san-Thankyou, everybody (sankyuu is the pronunciation of thank you from English directly into Japanese)_

_When Fuji says: Is everyone having fun? --It is reminiscent of what Jpop stars do during a concert to ask the audience if they're enjoying themselves. So basically, Fuji is jokingly putting himself in a dramatic limelight and making himself out to be a pampered, center of the attention idol in this situation. Which he is, really._

**Cookies?**

**Questions?**

**Critique?**

**Rotten vegetables?**

**Bombard the authoress with your comments, pretty please?**

**Ja ne! Until next time!**


	3. Arc 2: Asylum

Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis belongs to Konomi-sensei; I merely borrow them without permission.

* * *

Sleeping Beauty

Asylum

Arc Two

* * *

Asylum:

An institution for the care of ill or needy people, esp. those with mental impairments.

_A place of safety; refuge._

* * *

The room was a daunting white, as blank as the one they had first lulled him to 'sleep' in. But this one was much larger, vaster. It was the size of a small football field, perhaps.

He would have thought the awakening to be cataclysmic, but it there was no cessation to sleep that leapt into waking electric (were those electric? They were a lot whiter and more soothing) light.

Fuji Syusuke kept his eyes open as his gaze wandered from wall to wall in the room. Shifting slightly, He noticed the IV-like cords to his wrists and the alabaster skin he realized was his own.

So much for waking up and looking positively (negatively) cadaverous in a claustrophobia-inducing catacomb.

The tubes themselves were tiny in diameter. He pinched one between his fingers, and realized that the material was a flexible carapace. The tubing itself bent, but trying to disrupt the flow of clear liquid was impossible. The multiple thin tubes, like wires, trailed down and hooked into some container at the bottom of his coffin-like bed.

Then Fuji realized his head felt strangely heavy. He wasn't quite sure if it wasn't just him, since it probably had been awhile. The fuzziness that dimmed with consciousness was behind him. His brain had always been tremendously alert and quick to adjust, anyhow.

Ah.

His hair.

Smooth strands of honey brown hung, no, _swept_ past his shoulders and down his back, trailing farther past his makeshift bed, in a cascade of classic hair-shampoo-commercial shimmer. _What was_ in these IV's?

Fuji had never prided himself on his appearance in the same way that he'd never really dwelt on his natural genius. They were simply there, parts of him that no one could take away from him and he couldn't much change himself. That didn't mean he couldn't take advantage. Certainly, Fuji acknowledged the gift from the Gods and accepted in a graceful manner before flirting shamelessly with passing fancies and bearing down on anything worth his time. To his mild chagrin, people had characterized him before as androgynous, too pretty to be strictly X-Y in chromosome composition.

But he digressed.

_Saa…_ one tends to digress after being so long out of practice. In conscious thought, that is.

That's right.

His hair.

_Ne_… why didn't his nails grow that long, then? They were quite lengthy than the average teenage boy's, but it was within reasonable measure. His hair reminded him of Rapunzel. Fuji chuckled softly. A mystery… _sou._ Even the laws of nature had bent to try and give him the proper _hime-chan's_ appearance.

Yumiko-nee-san would be quite proud.

But then he made the connection and he realized he still didn't know where he was and where his family would be and had he achieved his goal?

Did it work?

Fuji chided himself. Such silly thoughts.

He flashed a cherub's smile that he knew the one's monitoring him could see and managed a little wave (apple apple …what was the other fruit?).

* * *

"Do you have his dossier?"

"Here, all of the documents. In order according to date, then alphabetically, going through the Germanic, English, and so on to basic kanji".

"Wonderful."

Tezuka's hand flitted to his temple before resting on his knee again. All the fanfare over T3N541's awakening had evolved into farcical fluster. Others had fawned over getting to meet the 100-year old ('Will our governments still pay him money for his old age? —after all, life expectancy has gone up since his days. A hundred is not such a big deal,' they gossiped).

Tezuka had successful extricated the pertinent information from the plethora of conversations happening around him, and now they were on their way to arranging legal documents to offer up as a sort of tithe-like tribute to the media and international board.

Oh… how he loathed cubicles.

Tezuka was a nature-obsessed, outdoors type. He liked camping and fishing and playing tennis in his free time.

Despite people's readiness to associate his facial expressions to a stuffy collar and cramped business walls, he liked the comfort of a favorite faded polo much better. He did not deserve this twenty plus hour period of caffeine, dozing, and more caffeine.

He repeated his favored phrase in his head like a mantra while trying to maintain consciousness.

Currently, the 25-year old medic was sitting between two arguing surgeons who were debating over the malpractice insurance fees the team should set aside for potential lawsuits over the case. Tezuka sighed again. As far as he was concerned, it should be entirely charged on him. He'd dropped the coffee, after all.

They'd all moved out of the large room lined with screens that had been part of the observation deck. Shortly after T3N541 had waved jauntily at them, the team Sam's technical assistant had called up came to wheel the subject out of the capacious white chamber. Having no more subject to observe, the people in the observational deck had left and converged on the main floor in…

In this cubicle space.

Thankfully, they were mostly in separate cubicles. For some odd reason, though, more and more people had taken to milling into Tezuka's personal, walled-in space. Now, the tiny area held about seven people, and Tezuka, cramped in the far side of the space, could not see the opening on the other end.

He'd met a lot of people in the course of the next few hours. Sam himself had turned out to be a smiling redhead originally from Dublin before taking to New York city life, and then traveling all over the world to expand his expertise. Seacrest had come and gone, saying he would fax via electron-screen all the procedural records to Tezuka, as well as their funding and private patrons, including the demanding Atobe zaibatsu (therefore, all the paperwork needed to be done pronto before their corporate lawyers called in). Ayame had left, but not before lionizing him some more and then slipping him her number, though her father stayed (Tezuka felt a guilty relief at the former's departure).

"Look, when they see what we've done, they'll celebrate us first, then boo us, then look into the details. We'll best seek out some corporate moguls, pull some politician strings, and then sort out the minutiae," a passionate bearded man said.

They'd nearly sorted out everything now. They had no clue what to do with the information on birth dates, first elementary school teachers, or close friends and hobbies, but then again, it didn't hurt to be informed. The files were classified in either personal or medical or public folders.

Technically speaking, no doctor present here should even be riffling through the better part of the personal history files, but a century-old case led everyone to question what they were and were not allowed to do. Right now, 'Sleeping Beauty's' personal space was a moot point. They'd kissed him awake, now they took him for their own.

Right?

They were his only connections. Genetic and biological relations would be sorted out later. They were the people who brought him to life again, in a very self-important sense.

Tezuka didn't like it, but it was the truth that all the individuals and corporations involved in waking up the comatose patient this time were like immediate family. No secrets.

We'll be protecting you, exhibiting you, and teaching you how to fit in again, releasing you to the 'wild' in time.

But first, you must be our lab specimen, the key to our glory.

Fair trade, no?

'Not really', Tezuka thought morosely. The image of that far-too-intelligent gaze and charlatan's quirk of the lips didn't fit the image of a lab rat. No… not fair at all.

But Tezuka clamped down the non-professional revelation with fastidious loyalty to his career.

'Yudan sezu ni ikou'

* * *

March 1st--

There were plans to put Fuji in an exclusive wing all his own.

Thankfully, Fuji Syusuke had been proficient in several languages in his youth. His German was a bit rough around the edges, but he could make out English just fine.

He'd wanted to protest, but on second thought, kept his mouth firmly shut and in a curving, lucid smile when someone encountered him.

After all, they were his world for however long it took him to finish physical therapy and get out of bed. He was in much better condition than he had expected, considering so many years of being comatose. When Fuji had found out the year, he'd burst out laughing, at the expense of a few nurses who thought him quite mad. It was all right.

Maybe he was.

But he digressed again. He was in better condition than to be expected, and Fuji thanked his lucky stars for that. He also generously attributed his adequate maintenance of motor skills to whatever it was in the IV's that had also made his hair long and shiny. It was peculiar, to be able to move his limbs just fine, but having trouble retaining balance when walking at a swift pace.

After he'd got to his room, where they had let him use a monitored bathroom, Fuji had tried jogging in place and then ambling around the bathroom. It did not work out perfectly well.

His physical limbs and muscles were fine. It was simply his ability to use them that required work. Fuji discovered that he caught on to fine movements such as pinching his IV tubes or brushing his hair with slender fingers incredibly well. It was the large physical movements that he had a bit of trouble mastering, like a newborn in this respect.

Until then, he saved himself the embarrassment and kept in bed, gazing out the window, smiling happily because, though he could not see the scenery outside, the glistening patterns of aquarium fish that were his curtains were extremely entertaining.

They took the curtains down and replaced them with more traditional linens soon after. Fuji suspected it was because it disconcerted them to see him stare for such extended periods of time.

He smiled at that.

* * *

Tezuka dreamed he was back in ninth grade. He had been class president and tennis captain, respected by the boys and crushed on by the girls. Well, he was crushed on by one or two boys, too, but Tezuka guessed it was simply because they were all in a tizzy over recent gay rights.

The morning was an ordinary one, with homeroom starting with roll call and the rest of the classes passing by with murmurs of approval from his teachers and smiles from his classmates. During cleaning duty, however, an interesting thing happened.

'Tezuka-san, please take this mop and pail to clean the south stairwell," a fuzzy face of a teacher said to him.

He didn't quite understand why, as it was so much easier to run a smaller version of the self-maintaining robotics sweeper over the stairs. A mop and pail… did they even have that in school anymore? None of the nighttime janitors would even stoop that low, or pretend to be that old-fashioned.

But a request was a request. Dream-Tezuka shrugged nonchalantly, and took the mop and the bucket that was suddenly filled with sloshing, soapy water. He headed to the southern stairwell with a brisk stride, while the grownup part of Tezuka's consciousness marveled at the familiar hallways and numerous lockers that kids liked to lock the runts of the litter in because no one used them anymore.

The second interesting thing happened now. A sort of haze developed in the surrounding area. Tezuka stood in the hallway, mop in hand, as he wondered over the bleariness of the lockers now. Startling blue eyes came out the fog, and with them a figure, emanating a sort of pervasive pulchritude, in a boy's uniform, black and crisp.

Tezuka was a little startled, but he quickly masked his surprise.

"Fuji. You're a girl. Dress like one."

The blue eyes shut as she smiled, patted down the smooth masculine uniform, and said in a sing-song voice: "I am no-ot. But as you wish, Tezuka."

Tezuka Kunimitsu stared on in silent horror as the girl (strange, she was rather flat-chested for such a pretty creature) developed an ample bosom and a girl's uniform, complete with bow and short skirt hitting mid-thigh, magically replaced the black boy's uniform in a fraction of a second. It was then that Tezuka noticed her creamy skin, apparent on face, arms, neck, and yes, the shapely legs.

Fuji laughed again at his expression. It must have shown—the surprise, that is.

"Ne, Tezuka, do you need help with cleaning duty? I'm done with mine."

"No, I'll manage," Tezuka deadpanned, dropping the cerulean gaze and trying to walk around the figure. It was hard, as the world had developed a fuzziness that only intensified the shocking clarity of Fuji.

She called to him: "But you don't really know how to properly use them. Your grandfather taught you before, but I'm still better at it than you are."

Tezuka stopped.

A challenge? From Fuji, no less. For some reason, it thrilled him as much as it made his temples hurt.

"Are you, now…" Tezuka turned around and his russet eyes grated against the rakish look sent his way.

Fuji just smiled cheekily back at him.

"Yes," he said with confidence. "After all, I just traveled here from the past. I know how to clean with a mop much better than you."

A pause.

Then, "You're from the past?"

"Saa… well, I'm certainly not from your time."

"I don't understand."

Fuji ignored him smartly.

"Ne, Tezuka, I hear they settled the gay rights over the international board and finally broadcasted it on Japan News last night."

What the hell was Fuji talking about now?

Tezuka could feel a headache coming. He opted for shutting his mouth and walking past the figure, but Fuji was much faster, and unavoidable as she/he stood firmly in front of the taller student.

"I'm not chafing you pride, am I?" Bright azure eyes flashed wickedly, as she/he leaned closer. The face still had frighteningly unblemished skin close up, with a pale frosted mouth and an infectious smile tugging at both ends. Tezuka pressed his own lips together in a disapproving firm line as his pulse raced at the close proximity, but Fuji merely reached out to take the handle of the mop.

Before her/his hand could brush Tezuka's in order to retrieve the mop, however, the fog dissipated, and it was over with hazy celerity.

And then he woke up.

* * *

Tezuka Kunimitsu first came in contact with the lab rat three days after the 29th.

After 14 hours of sleep upon getting back to his hotel, Tezuka had been awakened by persistent telephone calls to his room. After all, he had carefully forgotten to turn on his cell phone after he had left it to charge in the solar radiation bath.

Sawada had been the first to leave a message. After that, a multitude of people whose names and faces Tezuka could not clearly connect or discern.

When he picked up the phone, it was Seacrest. Apparently, some of the more esteemed doctors had gone to see T3N541 already, in his special care ward. They had wanted Tezuka to be first, but they were not able to reach him.

Tezuka apologized, and Seacrest gushed profusely before extending the offer that Tezuka come to the meeting/official party they would throw to celebrate 'Sleeping Beauty's' return coming up soon. Tezuka graciously accepted, and Seacrest then urged the youth to go and visit the subject already.

"Seriously, Tezuka-san. It's the most interesting encounter."

Seacrest had said it like T3N541 was some sort of alien or lab specimen, which, in a way, was understandable. Tezuka was intrigued, and a bit anxious.

He had wanted to see for himself, in person, up close.

That face. Those expressions.

Would it still be the same?

He got dressed, grabbed some breakfast, and left the hotel suite in a hurry to get to the German hospital wing they had put T3N541 in. As a registered special case, Fuji Syusuke had several hallways to himself, with private nurses and attendants that were all affiliated to correspondents of the case in some way.

He made a detailed list of all the questions and procedures he would go through with the patient as he took the magnetic subway to the district area, and then took the underground route they opened on weekdays to the reception vicinity (a normal Tezuka would have opted for the scenic view with the newly planted Siberian ferns along the widened European streets). When he finally reached the reception area, he was in a daze that the elevator's 'ding' when they reached the underground level failed to register.

"Going up?" a friendly looked nurse asked when she saw him.

Tezuka hastily offered a mumbled 'yes' as he went over the directions Seacrest had given him to get to the wing of the hospital.

The nurse stared politely off to the side as Tezuka settled himself in the elevator and pressed 'ground floor'. She couldn't help stealing glances however. The tall man was an easy sight to the eyes, if he wasn't directing a charged, steely glare one's way. That wasn't the reason she was intrigued, though.

"Say… Tezuka…. Kunimitsu?"

Tezuka heard his name while he was trying to figure out the first words he would say to T3N541.

He turned to the other occupier of the elevator. "Yes?"

She flushed, embarrassed. "Oh… I mean, Doctor… I thought I recognized you! My brother is a big fan, as am I…" She clutched at the digital clipboard in her hand, before fumbling to get out the matching pen.

"Sign?"

Tezuka accepted, still in a mild reverie as his brain went through the detailed motions of the introduction that would occur later. "Ah, who to?"

She gave him the clipboard and pulled up a new screen on the pixilated front. "To Maya and Tony Rivera, please. Tony is also hoping to become a neurologist, and someday study under you."

Tezuka didn't respond, but signed his name with a puritanical regiment, and returned the clipboard.

She thanked him profusely while he gave a curt nod as he walked out when the elevator doors opened again, and an automated voice announced ground level.

When Maya Rivera, nurse, 33, single, looked down at the neat scripted handwriting on her board, she realized Dr. Tezuka Kunimitsu must have made a mistake, or had a long morning so far.

It read:

**'To Fuji Syusuke: How are you feeling?**

**Tezuka Kunimitsu'**

* * *

After escaping from the elevator's confinement, Tezuka made his way over to the reception desk. That was one of the beauties of this private hospital—it still had personalized staff at the tables, in the form of real live humans you could talk to. He did just that with a receptionist who gave him an inquisitive stare before handing him a loose file and making a phone call to T3N541's wing so they could adjust his schedule, and yes, they would call him up over the intercom when the time came, of course.

He forgot to thank her, and she touched up her hair in a fitful, silent rage at the 'rash, young things' of modern society today.

_"Tezuka Kunimitsu to West Wing, Room 320—I repeat—"_

He traveled the rest of the distance on foot, with large strides as his nerves screamed at him to take some headache medicine later. Strangely enough, though, his head was feeling a little light by now, and had seemingly given up the drumming and retaliated in a much more vicious manner.

So, with a swimmingly light feeling up in his neurons, Tezuka strode into the West Wing reception hall with a small clipboard and a mini folder file clipped neatly against the back.

The doctor there was scrutinizing him with sharp, beady eyes. Soon, though, after Tezuka managed a rough description of his purpose there, the man volunteered to get up from the large plush Italian chair behind the counter and show Tezuka to Room 320. Tezuka politely declined, and merely asked for a direction.

The doctor/attendant pointed, and Tezuka, after nearly bumping into a nurse wheeling towels in the narrow hallway, finally made it within a few meters radius of the subject haunting him since the day he'd seen the picture.

A few meters. The closest distance yet, probably.

Tezuka didn't know exactly what he was expecting, but he figured it was unrealistic to think that the subject's new quarters would resemble the white room that the operational desk had overlooked. It was just a normal, albeit very nice, patient's room—very middle class, if anything. The wallpaper was a soothing shade of tan and cream, and Tezuka wondered how often the hospital people changed it, or if the digital pixilated wallpaper imaging with be too much for a 100-year old from the past.

The furniture was nice and simple and cute. The bed, as usual, was centerpiece and large, with standard buttons along the back and a call remote propped up in its case along the side board. It seemed Tezuka's gaze traveled everywhere in that room except for where he knew was dead center, and where he knew he would inevitably be drawn to later.

Ah.

T3N541.

Fuji… Syusuke-san.

Cheerful, closed eyes were directed towards Tezuka, and a sunny smile graced T3N541's heart-shaped face.

He was indeed lovely, more so than the receiver of a full set of plastic surgery because the whole face matched, and they jacked up prices higher every day now for a matching face (to set apart the plastics from the naturals; you can't buy everything with money, was the new moral, if there was a moral). His looks were effeminate, but there was nothing female about him, even if the patient did clasp his fingers together delicately and uphold the mores of traditional domestic femininity.

His eyes were closed, Tezuka noted with both regret and relief.

But his whole countenance was apathetic. Tezuka could sense something was wrong.

His first words. Tezuka had prepared them in the elevator.

He tested them like a fresh schoolboy.

"How did you sleep last night?"

"Oh, wonderfully. I did have a vision, though. I knew you would come today to visit me, Dr. Tezuka Kunimitsu."

Tezuka was shocked.

A plethora of questions bombarded his usually well trained and well filtered mind.

Firstly, how did the subject know his name?

Secondly, was the subject truly a soothsayer?

Thirdly, if so, did he know about Tezuka's dream last night?

Fourthly, would he mention the dream if he knew about it?

A section in Tezuka's chest burned uncharacteristically as he cleared his throat and trudged on valiantly.

"Are you saying… you're suggesting—ah"

"That I have ESP? Oh yes, or… maybe not. But it's definitely something. I feel as if my mind has stepped past the limits of time and space continuum, Doctor Tezuka."

Fuji grinned then, a wonderfully mutinous, mordant grin with enough bite to snap the logic into Tezuka's head and enough mendacious clues to make the situation ridiculous.

_I'm laughing. _

_I'm laughing at you._

_No, I'll be laughing with you… if you laugh with me. _

Which do you choose?

This was all a joke, wasn't it?

It reminded Tezuka of the night before, and the pink of Fuji's lips, in the which the same color was represented now.

Tezuka actually groaned, against all better judgment and years of carefully controlling his reactions to stressful situations.

How _could _Seacrest have?

"Cut the _crap_, please. I'm a neurobiology and coma specialist, not your psychiatrist."

How the hell did a pretty fairytale princess turn out to be such a duplicitous character? It was beyond Tezuka, so the young doctor put a hand to his forehead and gave Fuji his best glare instead. To Tezuka's surprise, Fuji wasn't in the least fazed by Tezuka's outburst and reprimand.

A clear, ringing laugh sounded as Fuji doubled over from his formerly recumbent position on the bed. The sound echoed in the doctor's ears, but the man wasn't quite sure how to process it in his brain. Tezuka settled for waiting and standing numbly by the bed instead.

Fuji finally muffled his giggles, and, in a voice still shining with mirth, said:

"Saa… your friends got what they wanted. I gave them quite a show."

Tezuka's stony gaze didn't falter.

Fuji merely grinned more avidly. "Now, now. Don't look like that, or you'll turn into a statue."

He continued blithely. "They got what they wanted. I think I had some of them convinced that I had amnesia, while others gained the impression that I had developed superpowers and a sixth sense during my coma. Now, finally, more normal people looking for a good time will read the interesting medical reports that pop up, ne?"

Tezuka didn't know what to say, so he settled for taking out his clipboard and scrolling through the checkpoints for a standard post-coma procedure run on more minor cases.

Fuji wasn't a major case.

He was a nutcase.

Said man flicked his outrageously long hair out of his face and turned to watch it flow, smugly, Tezuka thought, onto the floor and pool against the tiles.

"Let's proceed," Tezuka said, back in control.

Or a decent semblance of it.

* * *

March 8th --

After the first few visits, Tezuka had found himself naturally wandering into the ward to check up on T3N541's progress.

The nurses had moved him a few times. He was currently on a modestly sized hospital bed, in a room with a soft, delicate theme and outdated paper wallpaper. Apparently, the nurses thought that keeping the setting a hundred years pre-modern would ease the patient's nerves. There was a window that panned out to a shocking green burst of lawn and trees and sun.

There was uneasiness and unrest in his eyes as he glanced towards Tezuka just when he entered, but he quickly replaced it with a smile and readjusted his sheets.

Finally, the young man had had his hair cut to a little ways past his chin, presumably fro m the hospital salon down in the second basement usually reserved for the older affluent ladies who liked to look neat for their grandchildren. The silkiness of the locks ruined all chances of the haircut making the patient look less effeminate. Tezuka had a theory that a bald Fuji would still be a damned tempting Fuji.

They were going through the regular procedures on the clipboard now. The customary questions were asked, and Fuji cheerfully ignored the ones he didn't want to answer and made up interesting answers to the ones Tezuka seemed dutifully intent on asking.

When Tezuka brought up the subject of Fuji's last 80 years, however, the conversation, if it could be deemed such, took a sharp turn. Tezuka would later characterize that moment as one of the other many times Fuji surprised him in being exemplarily random.

"Tezuka-_sensei_, please don't be alarmed."

Fuji's eyes opened. They were an electric blue in the patch of sun from the window. Tezuka had seen them before, and he still saw them every time he turned himself over to the back of his eyelids, but he realized that, throughout his life, he'd continue being shocked every time.

Fuji was being serious, wasn't he?

Tezuka had noticed by now that T3N541's snapped open disconcertingly whenever a 'mood' came on to him. It was both unpredictable and rewarding. A grain of truth amidst all the useless data Tezuka had stored in his clipboard's file by now.

It was strange, though. Now that Fuji was going to finally say something worth recording, Tezuka suddenly didn't have the heart to pick up his pen and start writing it down.

He was a doctor.

Fuji was a patient.

This was between the two of them.

Or was it?

"This wasn't a natural coma."

…What?

Tezuka paused, and set the clipboard in his hand down on the bedside table, wary of any possible fibs. "What do you mean?" he said rationally.

Fuji leaned forward on his bed, ruffling sheets as he stretched his back. A nonchalant scene.

"What I mean is—they put me to sleep on purpose. No, even that was a farce. _W_hat I mean is… You don't have to stress over the legal stuff. It was all against the rules anyway. Against legal law, against _Kami-sama's_ will…"

Fuji closed his eyes, and his long lashes brushed the translucent skin beneath his eyes. Tezuka noticed that, despite the breathtakingly good looks given by so many years of IV's, it was not exactly healthy-looking, in the normal way. The pallor made his face look surreal, like an expertly airbrushed image.

Fuji turned his head, looking away from Tezuka, who felt a strange sense of loss at the break in eye contact.

"I'm not supposed to be alive."

_This isn't my time. _

_To speak or to live._

Tezuka remained silent. He wasn't a psychiatrist or a counselor specializing in cases of a hundred year old, androgynous males who still looked and physically were twenty five. It wasn't Tezuka's taciturn nature. It was simply that he was at a loss what to say.

Fuji spun around in a fluid motion to face Tezuka again.

This time, Tezuka held his breath, ready for whatever emotion rose up from an unknown place underneath his professional demeanor, ready for whatever T3N541 had to dish out.

"I'm not supposed to… but then again, I'm not complaining," Fuji laughed brightly.

And the sound was strangely eerie and cheerful at the same time.

* * *

…_And a smile that won't wash away,_

_Can you look out the window without your shadow getting in the way, _

_Oh you're so beautiful with an edge and a charm, _

_But so careful when I'm in your arms,_

'_Cause you're working,_

_Building a mystery…_

_You woke up screaming aloud a prayer from your secret god,_

_You feed off our fears and hold back your tears, _

_Give us a tantrum, and a know it all grin…_

'_Building a Mystery'_

_Sarah McLachlan_

* * *

**Suzu: Ah, any excessive alliteration was strictly accidental. Or was it:D Despite being morbid, I believe my favorite was 'waking up cadaverous in a claustrophobia-inducing catacomb.' Plus, I hope everyone enjoyed the prose that had a few vocabulary words in it. I get lonely when I can't use them too often. Lolz. **

**Prince of Tennis (manga) has ended! Oh, I really haven't let it sink in yet, and it's not like I've really been following. However, in two panels in the last chapter, Tezuka and Fuji are established as canon now (haha, in my book, at least). **

**Oh, I'm also looking into a possible beta. There are so many to choose from, but I'd prefer someone whose writing I can relate to and who has boundless enthusiasm that oversteps mine. Afterall, spotting typos and offering suggestions is hard and tedious, from what I hear. If anyone is INTERESTED, please notify me somehow. A review or a PM would be preferred. **

**Glossary:**

_apple apple …what was the other fruit_- this is not Japanese. But it is the 'dummy's' version to doing a classic royal wave at the citizens. Points for who can guess the last fruit! XD

_sou_- indeed

_hime-chan_- 'hime' means princess. '–chan' is a cutsey tag put on the end of nouns or proper nouns to express endearment, usually with girlish connotations.

'_Yudan sezu ni ikou'_- If you don't know what this means, you obviously have not seen Prince of Tennis. And you obviously have not read chapter one. Go relearn your stuff, now!

_Sensei_- sensei literally means teacher, but it is used to refer to esteemed professionals as well, especially doctors.

Kami-sama- basically translated as 'God'

**Comments or Criticism?**

**Pound the Authoress with your superior judgment, ne?**

**Ja, **

**-Suzu **


	4. Arc 2: Aegis

Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis belongs to Konomi-sensei; I merely put them in environments devoid of maniacal tennis action.

* * *

Sleeping Beauty

Aegis

Arc Two

* * *

Aegis-

_Protection_

* * *

"Hello?"

"Do you have it yet? Mr. Seacrest, it's imperative we have it _now_."

The man ran his hands through his hair as the phone's visual display showed the one on the other end, looking as frustrated and tired as himself, probably.

The other man sighed. "What do you have so far?"

Seacrest carefully shuffled the papers on his desk to locate the important folders.

"Well… we have gotten the subject free reign in six different countries, potentially. Visas galore."

"And that is going to help this along, how, when we can't even give him a citizenship?"

"Now hold on, hold on—aah. Here it is, here."

Seacrest held up two minidisks, as well as a folder filled with sorted paper.

"We have his documents from Japan. While we couldn't find some of his files, we patched things up by… uh, doing exactly that—patching. A hefty section of his personal history is missing. He was rather young, so a résumé… His medical records are intact, more or less. His identity is, and will be, safe." Sawada pursed his lips as his eyes crinkled in concentration. "That is, once we're able to enter him into the international data base."

"My secretary informed me we have yet to receive official certificates from his life a century ago. I hope you have those scanned, if you expect me to argue the case for you."

"Of course. All in good time… that is… ahh." Seacrest rummaged some more on his desk before muttering something about blasted technology deficiency these days.

"Now, Mr. Seacrest."

Said man paused, looked into the monitor showing the lawyer with bristles growing back on his chin and gray sideburns.

"No time?" he whispered fearfully, confirming what he knew to be true with his own lips.

The lawyer representative shook his head, and pinched his nose as his forehead wrinkled.

"Not after 84 years of half-death, no."

* * *

_March 19th_

Tezuka put on the suit his mother had sent him for his 21st birthday with less than great relish. Tonight might have been a time for celebration, and he may have succeeded as of his career, right now… but Fuji. He had no clue what was in store for the young, no, old, man.

As Tezuka fingered the crisp, smooth fabric of the dark suit, he remembered the looks Fuji had given him, the haunting cobalt blue stares and the misty smiles that never seemed to say anything about anything.

It was a short notice for such a lavish event. The invitation had not been formally sent but little more than a week ago. Tezuka thought it might have made sense, since there were fewer than sixty attendees. However, the senior doctors and promotional sponsors had reserved more than one floor in a five star hotel overlooking a classy city night scene for the event of congratulating the success of the T3N541 procedure.

It was more than that, though. Tezuka suspected that people were taking the time to suck up and get friendly with some of the figures involved with the awakening of the comatose patient—individuals no doubt up for some prizes and recognition in the future or near future. Sawada had informed Tezuka that there was talk about nominating the young specialist Tezuka Kunimitsu for the Hawser Prize in the Oxford circles where Sawada had visited last weekend.

Heck, Sawada said, there were even invitations for Tezuka to join teams that had already been acclaimed for Nobel level scientific and humanitarian achievements. His career was secure.

So far, it seemed no one but a select few realized the dangers that came with getting affiliated with a human preservation case.

For example, the Atobe zaibatsu that had backed the project financially seemed to be finally stepping into the limelight by hosting this party at one of their finest hotel chains. Other sponsors such as corporations into bioengineering and electronic hardware also clambered to be invited.

No doubt they wanted to see 'Sleeping Beauty' for themselves.

Of course, the people at the observation deck that day would all choose to come. They had tried to keep government officials out of this, but it was probable that a few members with high influence would come anyhow, interested. Other specialists in the field would come, as well as some close family and friends.

Ah.

T3N541.

He would be there too.

Fuji Syuusuke, that is.

Tezuka remembered Sawada's excitement when the elder doctor had called only two nights ago and informed him that the patient himself had almost begged the doctor to let him come to the celebration party when Sawada had visited his hospital room.

'He said it was just plain cruel and inhumane to keep him locked up in a hospital wing while we have a party over _him_, of all things,' Sawada had chuckled. 'I told him it was perhaps to early to get out of bed rest, but he insisted and told me he'd come even if he had to come in a wheelchair'.

A wheelchair.

How quaint.

Luckily, Sawada had informed him that they had more advanced technology now to support his legs, such as the hover crutches. Since Fuji's muscles had been preserved extremely well by the new advancements in medicine during the century, it was merely the matter of Fuji relearning to use them. The man was remarkably adept, Sawada had exclaimed. A true genius.

Fuji could walk properly for 8 ft and amble awkwardly for 17 now. His upper torso movements were close to perfection; one could hardly pick up a lag.

Tezuka changed quickly and finished tying his black bowtie against his white, crisp dress shirt. His hair would have to stay as is, since gel had proved futile many times before. He had contemplated wearing his glasses, but his fashionable aunt Tsukino, of all people, had called him up and asked if he wanted her to send one of the new color contacts that were all the rage in Asia (she had heard of the party from his mother, who was informed by her dutiful son after Sawada had told Tezuka's father).

She sent him three pairs—a golden hued pair, a startling violet pair, and a neutral pair that Aunt Tsukino said changed with one's skin tone. Cautious, Tezuka had avoided the other two and went for the neutral pair to see how it would change against his irises.

His eye color stayed a dark brown.

Secretly thankful, Tezuka kept them on, and doffed the glasses for the night.

Sawada would be picking up T3N541 from the hospital, after the young man had gotten properly prepared that morning. The new set of hover crutches was borrowed from Sawada's niece, who was around the same height as Fuji (although Tezuka secretly wondered why it mattered; the crutches did hover, for Pete's sake).

At a quarter to seven, Tezuka's chauffer (a grant from a sponsor) arrived to pick him up.

Looking up at the sky where there were no stars as of yet, Tezuka wondered just how celebratory the party was going to be.

* * *

The main hall and ballroom was all golden arches and expensive chandeliers. Tezuka walked through the lush carpeted walkways before hearing the click-click of his dress shoes on marble.

He peered through the small crowd congregated at the entrance of the ballroom. The area was roughly elliptical, with two grandiose pillars on either end touching a rather faraway ceiling which suggesting that the ballroom itself might have covered more than two floors of the hotel.

People were in suits and evening gowns. Tables were relatively sparse and pushed to two sides of the room. Some younger people sashayed in their formal finery. Tezuka didn't know if he had the right to call them young, though. A few were in their thirties, it seemed--older than Tezuka himself. Everywhere there was mild chatter, usually on medical related topics. Often, however, people who knew each other would diverge into personal chatter. Once or twice, as he crossed the expanse of the glittering room, he caught the words 'Sleeping Beauty' and 'coma'. There were even a few murmurs of his name as he passed by, although those were muttered surreptitiously to be polite.

Tezuka's eyes eventually centered on one of the highlights of the evening.

Fuji Syusuke was sitting casually at a large lace covered table near the center of the vast room. People were milled about him, several of which Tezuka recognized and others who he'd seen as a face only.

Tezuka went through the spattering of people to reach the central table. He pardoned himself as he neared Fuji. Once he was close enough, Tezuka could make out the young-looking man's trademark 'happy smile' and blasé countenance. Tezuka could hear how he complemented a company chair's daughter's dress and mentioning that 'fashion had remained remarkably unchanged after eighty-something years but wasn't fashion always like that, styles making reoccurrences and trends repeating in a cycle'.

Fuji himself was wearing a silvery white tuxedo that was a dangerously pristine satin-like material. It fitted him like some sort of prince charming or angel, and Tezuka didn't have enough fashion sense to tell if it was custom tailored or a big brand. One thing was for certain—Fuji Syusuke also possessed enough talent to make himself even more breathtaking in a 'public' occasion. His light brown hair was all caramel and smooth strands that haloed his pale skin and full, pink, curved lips.

His speech was light and airy and entrancing. Fuji even fluttered his hand in what Tezuka thought to be a mildly ridiculous manner to call a waiter over and beg some ice water.

The people around him were fascinated by this ethereal creature that was not the cave man they had imagined and so much better than a fairytale princess. Sleeping Beauty was alive and well and charming his way into the hearts and pocketbooks and, possibly, beds of many of the guests.

Tezuka excused himself as he strode to the inner circle of Fuji's admirers. At this point, T3N541 had opened his eyes, eliciting some murmurs of approval or surprise from some guests. When Fuji saw him, their eyes locked.

Blue against brown.

The brown was stern as the blue lighted up in surprise, then appreciation as Fuji whistled softly in light jest.

Fuji's eyes snapped shut first as he broke into a heartbreakingly sweet smile.

"Why, Tezuka-sensei. I almost didn't recognize you without your glasses and lab coat. You should keep this look more often," Fuji said smoothly.

Tezuka 'hn'ed in response as several of the eyebrows of the women crowded around shot up at the newest sexy arrival in their midst. In his twenties, Tezuka was a regal sort of handsome that did not match his age until he grew into adulthood and his maturity became more and more attractive to those around him, not that his physical athlete's attributes didn't play into the mix. The clean black suit still fit after the few years since he'd received it, and brought out a toned figure.

Fuji seemed to eye him up and down in a quick sweep, as if to size up his character, before taking out a single crutch seemingly from nowhere and carefully standing up while bracing himself against it.

Fuji's lashes fluttered apart.

"Shall we walk?"

Tezuka nodded, and held out his arm for Fuji as the man shifted his weight equally between Tezuka and the hovering crutch at his other side.

Some faces lighted up in inquiry when they passed by, an odd but well fitting pair dressed nicely against the lavish design of the interior décor, but most people resumed their individual conversations or wisely hit the expensive caviar before it was set aside for the vast array of imported wines the Rognina family had brought to the party.

"Saa… It feels nice to leave my room after nearly a month stuck in bed and physical therapy sessions. My therapist adores me, though, and I can say the same for her."

Conversation between them flowed in the same roughly one-sided manner as they strode to the large bay windows that overlooked the night scene. Tezuka offered to get them drinks, but Fuji declined, saying he wanted to appreciate the scenery and the party before he sampled the wine that would be around the same age as he was.

Tezuka actually chuckled lightly at that.

Fuji grinned.

Two people were walking towards them now, and Tezuka faced away from the window glass to greet them.

One of them Tezuka recognized right away as the tall, rather large in stature man that was on Sam's team during Sleeping Beauty's 'resurrection'. He had barely spoken a word then, and seemed just as large and silent in his woven brown suit now as he walked slightly behind the other man, whose face Tezuka recognized as sometimes being in the media or business world talk.

"The Atobe Zaibatsu head," Tezuka acknowledged, but mostly said it aloud for Fuji's benefit.

The wealthy heir was dressed in a designer suit made of mauve material Tezuka couldn't place. Grayish hair, sleek and looking anything but middle-aged gray, parted down the middle of a well-chiseled face with classic aristocratic features. There was a mole on one cheek, and a dangerous glint to his eyes as the man did something akin to smirking at the people in his presence.

"Not quite yet, I'm afraid. My old man is still President in name, even if he is mostly retired in Vienna taking a long, permanent vacation right now—_na, Kabaji_?"

To Tezuka's mild surprise, the man from Sam's team at that time actually responded with a curt "Usu."

Most people knew that Atobe Senior's only son, Keigo, was actually running the company and its many faceted enterprises by now. The man was known to be egotistical, vain, sexy, capable, driven, and still in his twenties.

In that, there was something in common between doctor and CEO.

"Welcome, Tezuka Kunimitsu," Atobe announced grandly with a flourish of his arm, as if he had planned the whole party. In a way, he was the one paying for it.

"—And… the 'patient', Ore-sama presumes?" Atobe had turned his attention to Fuji now. The look in his gray eyes intensified, and Atobe's grin stretched wider as Fuji turned his head to meet the stare.

"You presume correctly," Fuji quipped in a light tone. His eyes, however, fluttered open and revealed a steely, calculated gaze.

Atobe seemed to take in all that was Fuji Syusuke, from his dress, to his figure, to his pretty features and the enchantress's eyes. Apparently, the businessman liked what he saw.

"Kabaji," Atobe said, and raised a manicured hand, though never taking his eyes from Fuji's own.

Kabaji dug into his dark brown suit and retrieved a small rounded flat disk no larger than a poker chip, and put it into Atobe's outstretched hand.

"Here." Atobe casually dropped the chip into Tezuka's suit pocket, breaking eye contact with Fuji, finally, to look at Tezuka emphatically. "Drop by sometime. The chip has all of Ore-sama's relevant info."

Tezuka remained silent, but opted for a handshake in goodbye as Atobe Keigo and his larger companion Kabaji walked away. Atobe sent one last meaningful, curious and rather predatory look Fuji's way, but Fuji pointedly ignored it by closing his eyes and smiling blankly out the window again. This time, there were stars beginning to peek out of the inky sky.

As soon as Atobe was out of earshot, Fuji, all smiles, turned back to Tezuka and suggested the taller man help him limp over to where Dr. Sawada was, to thank him for all his help. Tezuka decided it was a good idea, so they strode at a slow pace over.

When Sawada saw them approaching, Tezuka thought he saw the senior doctor's brow crease in worry when he saw Tezuka coming with Fuji arm in arm.

When they were close enough, Sawada patted Tezuka cheerfully on the arm as he remarked to Fuji: "How is the hover crutch doing?"

Fuji smiled kindly as he tapped against the titanium wing with his free arm. "It's hovering beautifully, Doctor."

"Ah, good then. May I introduce to you two Mr. Asachi. Tezuka, I believe one of your college professors studied under Asachi-san before, although he's rarely in Japan anymore…"

The conversation drifted onwards towards pleasantries. Tezuka met faces and heard names, which he dutifully tried to match up and memorize. Tezuka noted how the doctor's faces, particularly the older ones, lit up in interest and in scrutiny once Fuji was introduced as the 'Sleeping Beauty Case'. Some hid their emotion under careful politeness, while others couldn't contain their excitement. Nearly all offered to contact Fuji in the future, although Sawada explained carefully that the young man was still under regimented care at a private hospital wing and would have a strict quota of visitors in order to ensure privacy. The person who was the subject of conversation continued nodding and saying '_Hajimemashite_' or 'Nice to meet you' or '_Enchanté_' politely. Tezuka noted that Fuji's English was very good, as well as his French, although his German could use work.

Tezuka met up with all the people on the observation deck that time, and finally got proper introductions. Ayame was more than eager to shake Tezuka's hand again, although her mouth hung open in awe as she reverentially greeted Fuji. She went off soon after, and came back with several young friends in tow. It was just as well, too, since Fuji seemed to be highly amused by the company of people his age, and thoroughly bored of the introductions to a long list of doctors and sponsors who considered Fuji a lab specimen, a celebrity, or an investment.

Fuji was soon dragged aside sometime in the middle of the long introductions by a friend of Ayame's with straight ebony hair and a nose that seemed too good to be true.

Tezuka was left alone to mill with the senior doctors now. Sawada drew him aside, however, and eased Tezuka's headache at having to conduct pleasantries for another hour.

"Tezuka-san, let's sit over there. I'm sure all the esteemed members of society you've just met will remember you now, ne? Besides, there's something I must speak to you about," Sawada said as he drew Tezuka closer and picked up the pace.

The young specialist was pulled along and sat rather forcefully down on an elegant high backed chair with Sawada across from him on a small table fit for personal conversation.

Sawada glanced around surreptitiously before speaking in a low tone.

"There's no more time, Tezuka-san."

Tezuka's brow furrowed. But it was not much different from usual. His gaze was as impregnable as ever.

"I don't understand, Doctor."

"We don't know if we can …" Sawada said carefully.

"If we can resurrect him," the older man finished.

There was no need to ask who 'him' referred to.

"What seems to be the problem?"

Sawada twined his long, gnarled digits together. "Ah… it's hard to compile the correct papers. It's hard to make a credible dossier to convince the Board that his case is anything but extraordinary. He's not a normal citizen, Tezuka-san—never will be, in fact."

Tezuka gaze wandered from Sawada's half-pained expression to search around the vicinity for Fuji. Tezuka spotted Atobe zaibatsu in deep negotiations with Mr. Seacrest. Kabaji was at the wine sampling line; Ayame was trailing after her father. Fuji was nowhere to be seen.

Never…

Tezuka knew perfectly well this was to be expected. The situation at hand was oncoming for days, weeks, years.

For each passing _decade_… the problem intensified.

"Seacrest and many of the other esteemed individuals from the immediate team have contacted professional lawyers on the subject, but most are wary of entering into such a humanitarian issue. The zaibatsu members and CEOs are also hesitant, since it could mean lingering effects on their 'unbiased' consumer base. The International Board, as of now, wants to lay low and pretend this never happened. Too much media is bad, and the officials are touchy. Cloning was banned… now this pops up."

Tezuka imagined how it would be like if they pretended this had 'never happened'. Fuji would be happy… or at least happier. He could attend college discreetly… make friends… immerse himself in society's circles… raise a family. Tezuka's chest felt a little tight when he imagined his patient with a smiling wife and a mini-Fuji beside him.

"It would help the subject if we went along with the Board's wishes," Tezuka reasoned, careful to keep his tone controlled as the vision of the Fuji family intensified.

Sawada shook his head sadly. "No, no… Tezuka-san, they're going to quarantine him—for life, if they can."

"_No."_

The word escaped Tezuka's mouth before he could stop them. He instantly regretted it later, and sat back and settled for frowning sternly, knowing that his gaze had grown hard.

"That's what I said. You can't quarantine a man for life! It's even more inhumane than freezing his body for 80 years."

Sawada stared into space thoughtfully. "So right now, we're still trying to… uhh… 'patch up' some areas of Fuji's personal history so we can present a pitiful case to the International Board. They're especially against making or creating fake identities nowadays, and we can hardly write that the subject is 100 years old in his ID card."

Tezuka closed his eyes. He felt like heaving a sigh, but what good would that do any of them?

"How much time?"

"A few weeks. A month maximum. All throughout that time, he must be put under strict 24-hour surveillance until we unearth more of his personal files and send them up for approval. Apparently, the current hospital has sent some reports behind our backs of mental instability in the patient."

Tezuka grimaced, as much as he knew it was a futile gesture.

"If we can't do it, the higher ups want to send 'Sleeping Beauty' and the case into permanent exile. Where and when is to be decided by them, solely," Sawada stated.

"And the people who do already know about Fuji Syusuke?" Tezuka intoned.

Sawada winced at the full name. "Well… they've all mostly signed confidential contracts, or are bound by their job professions, anyways."

Sawada stood up, and Tezuka followed suit.

"Tezuka-san, I hope you'll be keeping an eye on him these coming weeks?" Sawada asked. "I'll be in several countries at once for lectures and some future exile home hunting…" he laughed sarcastically at the last mention.

"Of course, Doctor."

"Thank you, Tezuka. You're a good boy, forgive me for saying this as you are a legal adult. Years fly fast; I remember when your father and I were in college, still…"

After the talk, Tezuka felt rather grim for the rest of the evening. He looked fruitlessly for Fuji, all the while running into people he knew or people who claimed to know him.

When one Fuji Syusuke nearly ran into him, Tezuka was hardly shocked, but mostly tired.

"Ah, T-Tezuka!" Fuji's expression seemedmildly shocked, although Tezuka questioned its sincerity.

"Save me. She's still after me."

Tezuka didn't know when they'd lapsed into familiar naming terms with each other, but the problem at hand seemed to be more than just that.

Tezuka saw Fuji motion to a girl a good amount of meters away. It was the same girl Tezuka had caught Fuji running away from the introduction session and strolling with for a good portion of the night. He had dazzled her, apparently, and she was playing for keeps.

"Saaa… Tezuka-kuun. Quick, over there. Huurry."

Fuji tugged at Tezuka's suit sleeve in an effort to drag him farther away from the girl.

"Fuji… are you intoxicated?" Tezuka asked flatly, gazing down at Fuji's unwavering grin that seemed to be just a little sloppier than usual.

Fuji eyed him innocently.

"Drunk? Me?" He smiled wider. "Perhaps, Tezuka."

"You are."

"Maa… take me home now?"

Tezuka steadied the shorter man on his feet, carefully adjusting the hover crutch that was still functioning well, but seemed to be holding up most of Fuji's weight now.

"Fuji, are you sure?" Tezuka said, his tone stern, but worried.

Fuji chuckled.

"I'm tired. I need to go back. I can't walk anymore. Even that strange levitating crutch and the calf injection Sawada-sensei gave me before this aren't working that well anymore…

Take me back, Tezuka…"

Tezuka hoisted Fuji's other arm over his shoulder, and gave Fuji another disapproving glare, which simply caused the honey-locked 'Sleeping Beauty' to flash a famous beatific glance back.

"Your date will be furious with me."

"…She wasn't exactly my date. More of a party hook-up."

"Hn."

* * *

They got back to the hospital close to midnight, although Tezuka wasn't sure of the exact time, since his more casual wristwatch was at his room sitting on his hotel dresser. The ride to was uneventful. Tezuka's chauffer came to pick them up, and didn't mention the extra passenger, although Tezuka thought he saw a little smirk from the rear view mirror when Fuji mumbled something incoherent and leaned his head on Tezuka's shoulder. Tezuka, fearing his patient getting chilled, wrapped the small-framed man in his own practical coat.

They had offered their goodbyes in a hurry to Sawada, Seacrest, and some of the other older doctors there. Ayame nor any of her younger friends were nowhere to be seen, so Tezuka successfully snuck Fuji out without the girl finding out.

Some others had stopped Tezuka on his way out to inquire about his career, his relationship with T3N541, anything they could. The stoic young specialist shrugged them off with one-word answers or half-hearted excuses.

And so the trip back to the hospital wing had been no biggie.

Fuji was still tipsy, and Tezuka, seeing no other option (he didn't want to feel the wrath of the nurses over Fuji's state this late at night), fed him a cleansing agent in the form of the new, commercialized hangover pills. Fuji laughed at the effects, which caused his cheeks to turn red and extreme drowsiness to set on, before he sobered up completely after thirty and some minutes and two bathroom breaks.

"Amazing, Tezuka," he chuckled softly. "Think of all the hangovers it could have cured in my day, and all intoxicated teens it could have helped out in an instant…"

Fuji snapped his fingers to demonstrate 'instant', although, the young man confided, it was mostly to show off that he had regained the ability to make a definitive sound in snapping his digits.

Tezuka frowned good-naturedly. "No, these pills are still rather expensive, and we frown on anyone using them in excess, in particular to hide the effects of intoxication. Their most popular use is for people who've had a drink at a party and need to drive back home."

"Well, I suppose I should be impressed by medicine today. It's been awhile, after all."

"Hn."

"And medicine is the only reason I'm still alive anyways," Fuji continued, as if probing to figure out how far he could carry the conversation.

Tezuka sat down by the bed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose, which felt empty without his glasses. "Fuji, the present is what counts."

"Hai, hai. But still… I can't help but regret…" Fuji yawned extravagantly here. Tezuka wasn't sure if it was real or fake.

"…the fact that those people knocked me out in the past and transported me to this future… just for their greedy selves. Saa… irritating, isn't it?"

Tezuka froze.

Fuji stopped, and then grinned a Cheshire cat grin that seemed to affirm that a certain boundary had finally been crossed.

The moon outside cast a faint glow on his features, more ethereal and transient than the sunlight that usually poured out of the panes. Tezuka folded his hands on his lap and positioned himself by the bed, carefully offering Fuji the glass of water that was left on his night stand from before.

"They purposefully preserved my body. My mind, too, once you think about it."

Tezuka stood by the bed, his face blank.

"Fuji?"

"You heard me".

"Fuji, that can't be true. Legal workings won't allow it."

"_Maa…_ I never said it was legal."

"It's been a long time. Maybe you imagined it all."

"I don't think I imagined much during my brain-dead state."

Tezuka grimaced at that, and Fuji's smile quirked up as the aged youth chuckled lightly.

"Well, it was for my benefit. There was something wrong with my mental state—an imaginary virus, you could say. They could only cure it within a lifetime with intensive care." Fuji looked thoughtful. "My family didn't want that for me. The authorities couldn't tolerate that from me."

Tezuka glanced at Fuji's face. His eyes were closed, and seemingly mirthful and light. That was what made Tezuka's lips part to ask.

"You feel betrayed?"

It was not a question.

And Fuji knew it didn't require an answer. He brushed away some light brown strands of his hair and looked out the window instead. He had begged Tezuka to draw open the curtains, since his own legs were all but numb now, and the hover crutch was recharging in the hallway. The sky was inky and black, and the stars were locked securely in the firmament above.

Some things never change…

"Ne, Tezuka. If you ever want to hear the whole story, you should ask me. I won't hold it back from you."

Fuji's eyes gleamed in a frightening manner. His head quirked to the side, and his longish locks of hair swept across one cheek as he stared straight into Tezuka's line of vision.

Tezuka's mouth felt somewhat dry. He didn't know if it was what Fuji had revealed to him so far, or what he had picked up from colleagues snooping about in this patient's personal life, or just the sheer soap opera-like quality of this whole experience… but he couldn't deny the seductive, temptress' look from under sinfully long lashes that Fuji Syusuke was sending him.

It was a challenge.

An invitation for more than a challenge.

_Ask me. _

_Understand me. _

_Help me. _

_All you have to do is say the words. _

_But do you really want the burden after all?_

Tezuka sighed, because he was a doctor.

He may not have the social skills to become a counselor, but underneath his more prudent self, Tezuka knew that he was the only one who Fuji would let in on his secrets without decimating the intruder on the barbed barriers he'd created around himself along the way. Touché, really.

Tezuka was a doctor in every sense of the word, in every sense of the responsibility.

"Tell me… please," Tezuka said, and the words were a little hard to get out.

His vision swam from lack of sleep in the past week or so, and Tezuka pinched the bridge of his nose to get rid of an impending headache. His mind was clear, though, and he saw Fuji give him an appraising stare.

* * *

"It probably started off with my father," Fuji said thoughtfully, as if he himself didn't know or hadn't taken the time to sort it all out. "I don't really know if I should use the term, even though it would be biologically correct. The connotations most people apply to the term 'father' can't be used in my situation."

Fuji paused, smiled, as if trying to engage Tezuka in a more light-hearted fashion after his comment.

"Saa… but anyhow, he was a great man. Very intelligent and dependable." Fuji smiled wider and pointed a thumb at himself.

"Not like me. My father had such large ambitions from the start, and he carried them out to the end. The world needed people like him. Not long after he married my mother, he got one of the highest positions in a governing society. The people needed him, and the rest of the family had to make sacrifices for that."

Tezuka noted absently the congruence between this part of the story and what Dr. Caraffa had said that fateful day in the room with the blinking monitors and hot coffee.

"My father was relatively young. He would carry on with his job for many more years, because he was so good at his post. The rest of our family, my mother, my sister, my little brother, and me… we never really had a good idea of what it is he did, but my mother always said it was of great importance. Yumiko-nee-san was born a year after the honeymoon, but she was a girl, with different preoccupations as my father and no motivation whatsoever to fill his government role in the future. My mother was hesitant too, since nee-san was the first-born. She…"

Fuji paused at this, as if testing the words, tasting them on the tip of his tongue before sharing them.

"My mother promised she'd let whichever other children she had leave Japan and go abroad to learn from my father how to do his job. So they had me. And Yuuta came a year after."

"I started everything remarkably early, and Yuuta couldn't keep up. Maybe that was why he disliked me so much… but it was natural to be competitive, since we were expected to join Father someday. My mother noticed me, my classmates and teachers noticed me, and then my father noticed me. Pretty soon, his colleagues wanted me up there in high positions with them, too."

"They left out some important details, though. Ne, Tezuka… you know the saying that people will naturally try to defy others' expectations of them? Well, it might have been that, or the fact that Yuuta hated me so much."

Fuji stopped again to take a sip of water at the bedside. Tezuka shifted, blinking to readjust himself to the break in the story.

Fuji continued.

"I…stopped trying. Or, rather, I tried to stop." Fuji laughed at this. "I didn't have any intention to leave the people around me, and the only far-off, seemingly unachievable goal I had was to make my little brother like me. My achievements stopped. Everyone was frustrated. If possible, Yuuta hated me more, because it was a little too late to pretend I was normal like everyone else. After all, there was speculation that I could have easily outstripped my father then and there at the age of 12."

Tezuka closed his eyes, imagining his own life, and scenes from his childhood. He'd known obligation and responsibility, and obediently shouldered it all with determination. Fuji was certainly different, and a strangely refreshing breeze in Tezuka's life. The young doctor had no clue what to make of the man, only that he was exhilaratingly different, even if they were both prodigies, respectively.

"And then a strange thing happened. I was simply threatening them, telling them to back off… but I suppose the whole process took a toll on my mental stability as well. I got somewhat crazy, that is, even more so than now. In my time, we knew of multiple personality disorders, but I had a twisted version of that. It was like my real personality couldn't come out anymore, and the mask I had put on when they tried to drag me abroad had become glued on."

Fuji shrugged.

"Normally, no one would have minded. But the new personality I developed was bland and docile and so uninterestingly normal that it seemed to have an effect on my latent ability as well. I could never reach my potential, and that irked everyone. After all, I was already chosen to join my father abroad, and you could say he and his coworkers were stubborn men. They figured that my dad alone was okay for now to keep the systems running, but they knew that it was shaky to rely on the family genes to produce another tensai, especially one that could measure up to Fuji Syusuke."

Tezuka watched, fascinated, as Fuji smiled widely and seemed to brag in a childish way of his intellectual prowess. Tezuka believed it. He knew Fuji was simply testing him, testing the world, coming out and then pulling back to see how much of him they would accept.

"In the end, I pushed them to do it."

He broke into a wry grin.

The danger in Fuji's voice was evident. Tezuka's thought process ground to a halt. To do what? Why? What did Fuji instigate?

"The coma… it was nothing more than a temporary product of a temper tantrum and some very desperate, pathetic excuse for human beings messing with some newly developed technology. Oh… and that they wanted to secure an heir for the position. Not to mention my father's corporation dangled my potential capacity in front of influential of the international board."

Tezuka stopped Fuji at this point in the tale.

"You're saying that they went past the legal status quo just so you could succeed your father?"

Fame and wealth. Repute and power.

Apparently, Fuji's father believed such sacrifice was necessary to continue the high positioned Fuji male line. Tezuka blinked. He knew. Wasn't he doing the same thing now—trying to create a legacy and write his name in medical journals so his future would remain far past his time?

Fuji showed teeth in his answering smile.

"Of course not. Or… maybe that's what he thought was happening when I agreed to fall asleep. But who cared about my father at that point? I was a medical condition by then. I was also a huge asset to anyone who could take me. Keeping me in a normal state of time to fix the problem with my personality would have taken a lifetime. By then, I would be useless as a potential tool."

"I take it you were either extremely brilliant or you were associated with strangely desperate people filled with avarice, Fuji-san."

The pretty young man threw back his head and laughed. "Both, I suppose."

Fuji leaned forward, then, and his eyes opened to reveal the shocking blue of his irises again. Tezuka willed himself to remain calm as Fuji's smooth, cold hands brushed over Tezuka's own palms. The century-old young man leaned forward so close that Tezuka had to draw back before they knocked noses.

"I'm like that fairytale princess, Sleeping Beauty, aren't I, Tezuka?" His voice was wistful and hollow, and Tezuka wanted to inquire on whether over eighty years of coma had cured his personality of its original ailment or not. Likely, it was only Fuji himself who was keeping up the façade for his own amusement.

"I sleep so many years just so that when I wake up, I get to live a normal life… if you can call this normal," Fuji smiled softly. His pale pink lips were startlingly close, like the man would kiss him any moment.

"My immediate family is gone. My records are mostly erased, or suppressed. I thought this might happen, so I took the chance at freedom," Fuji breathed.

"No one can tell me what to do with my time…

I'll _suspend_ time itself if I can get away from those bastards. Not that I didn't have regrets when I left."

Fuji drew back, and Tezuka breathed normally again.

Tezuka imagined the shock that Fuji's siblings and mother must have felt. Even if the father had been far too alienated to care about much but securing a sort of family dynasty, the other members who had tried to live normally in Japan must have missed Fuji Syusuke, right?

'But what about your descendants? You should have grand-nephews and nieces, even great-grand-nephews and nieces by now, Fuji-san. And your father's work. Surely, it still survives today. Will they want to collect you now that you're awake?' Tezuka wanted to say.

But he didn't. Knew that he couldn't.

His voice was uncharacteristically hesitant as his mind stumbled over explanations to uncomfortably personal issues with Fuji's life.

"Why did you—"

"I'm not a fucking naïve innocent, Tezuka," Fuji turned away, and a bitter edge tinged his voice. "Something far bestial than you'll ever know crawls underneath my skin."

* * *

…_There's no one left to talk to honey _

_And there ain't no one to buy our innocence _

'_Cause we are born innocent,_

_Believe me Adia, _

_We are still innocent, _

_It's easy we all falter,_

_Does it matter?_

…_I pull you from your tower, _

_I take away your pain and show you all the beauty you possess_

_If you'd only let yourself believe_

_That we are born innocent,_

_Believe me Adia, _

_We are still innocent, _

_It's easy we all falter,_

_Does it matter?_

--'_Adia'_

--Sarah McLachlan

* * *

**Suzu: And so the 4****th**** installment ends. Since the story stretches a bit longer, I have more time for character development. It may seem all implausible now, but I'll explain the situation better as we move along. I'm sorry for any possible typos or rushing of phrases. I wrote this late and in between essays and work for my classes. It'll only be worse as time goes on, though. I'll save you the high school writer's block talk. **

**Comments? Criticism? Critique?**

**Always appreciated. Really. **

**Not to mentionI'll try toupdate faster (shameless hint). **

**Thank you, thank you, thank you to all my readers. You know who you are! Much love! See you next chapter when things speed up (finally)!**

**Ja!**

**Mini Glossary: **

_zaibatsu_

term referring to industrial and financial business conglomerates in the Japan, whose influence and size allowed for control over significant parts of theeconomy

_na, Kabaji_

probably the equivalent of 'ne, Kabaji', which would translate as 'right, Kabaji?'. It's a very trademark Atobe phrase. Since Ore-sama himself pronounces it as 'naa', I decided to keep the rounded 'a' sound in the spelling.

_Hajimemashite_

"It's nice to meet you" sort of phrase.

_Enchanté_

A French phrase for introductions. Can be the English equivalent of "Enchanted to meet you."

_Maa…_

Another Japanese filler phrase. It would mean something like: 'ah…' or 'well….'.

_Tezuka-kuun_

Should properly be: Tezuka-kun. '-Kun' is a naming suffix for a (usually) guy one is on familiar terms with.


	5. Arc 3: Anachronism

**Disclaimer: Suzu wishes. **

**Suzu: Uugh… I'm so tired of formatting this. It's fine in word, but then I have to edit it all over again in document uploader. Gaah, no time, no time!**

**By the way, I had some smashing green apple bubble tea at a ramen/noodle joint. Personally, my philosophy is that everyone should have that stuff at least once a week, to be safe. :D**

**If you can, definitely go listen to the songs I take lyrics from. I can assure you they're all decent… but then again, musical tastes are all up to you. No pressure. There are a few repeat artists because they tend to have befitting lyrics (and good lyrics) that come from a single album and thus fit the gist of this piece of fiction. **

**To cheer everyone up from the somber mood of the piece (and as an apology for the long wait) in the last few chapters, I've included this OMAKE in the beginning of this chapter (shoutout to ARIASTE, btw, for demanding a little more). It's not to be taken too seriously, and is a fun spin on what should have happened if Suzu was feeling a little more humorous last chapter. It is or is not part of the real story (your choice):**

……………………………………** Omake (Extra)**

Tezuka Kunimitsu was an individual who happened to harbor a stony expression with an equally unruffled complexion.

Did he pride himself on that fact?

_Saa_… maybe.

We'll never know, anyhow.

However, at this current moment, said Tezuka was helping one particular 'young' man change back into hospital clothes. As Fuji peeled back layer and layer of smooth white tux and silky chemise, Tezuka was getting more and more worried.

Why, you ask?

Inside Tezuka's head swam visions (all startlingly real, mind you) of Fuji in both boy form and girl form, courtesy of an earlier night's dream. But now that Tezuka's extensive IQ lingered on the fact, the man realized he had not yet confirmed Fuji's true gender.

What if Fuji was a girl?

What if Fuji was a girl with no chest? (The horror!)

What if Fuji was a girl with a very (ahem) ample chest area and actually had to keep bindings on them day and night? (Poor girl.)

For goodness' sake, how did they bind them during those years of coma?

And (Tezuka thought with dawning horror) was it possible that binding them for that long led to a deflation or shrinkage of the tissue so that Fuji had no more chest?

Did this mean he was a girl?

After all this buildup, said Tezuka Kunimitsu wasn't expecting the anticlimax when Fuji finally flung off his shirt onto the bed, and presented Tezuka with a pale but creamy expanse of skin that was definitely masculine.

But pretty damn gorgeous at the same time.

Fuji chose that moment to drop his pants, and, clad only in boxers, ask Tezuka to hand him the PJ bottoms on the bed.

Tezuka tried to rouse himself and get the article of clothing. He really did. Try, that is.

Fuji looked up when Tezuka failed to move, and a spark caught in the patients' eye.

By this time, Tezuka was internally cursing his bad luck and hoping Fuji didn't see the faint red on his normally placid face.

Fuji looked tremendously amused.

Tezuka steeled himself for the worst.

"Purple contacts, Tezuka?"

Well.

… That was rather unexpected.

Tezuka was sure he had put on the pair of contacts that remained brown like his normal eye color once he put them on. Perhaps he made a mistake…?

"It goes nicely with pink, now that I think about it," Fuji chuckled, cocking his head to one side as he inspected Tezuka's increasingly embarrassed self.

Suddenly, it all clicked.

Tezuka wanted to prepare threats for his Aunt, but refrained, with enormous self control. The contacts changed color.

How could he have forgotten?

Wait… _purple_?

Since when did people have the grand idea to make contacts turn purple when the wearer blushed pink?

Did that even match?

Fuji's soft laugh brought him out of his reverie.

"My bad. They're actually more lilac. But your face is turning an interesting shade of green now, Tezuka-_sensei_. I wonder what matches with that, hmm?"

……………………………………** Owari (End)**

**Don't worry too much about the characters being OOC in the OMAKE. It's a parody, anyhow. Like the Rajipuri CD dramas. Pure parody. **

* * *

Sleeping Beauty

Anachronism

Arc Three

* * *

Anachronism:

One that is out of its proper, historical, or chronological order

* * *

March 30th--

Tezuka watched his first careful steps with a new model camcorder in his palm.

"That's embarrassing," the object of Tezuka's scrutiny remarked, as if he were saying, _"That's right. I'm looking good, aren't I?"_

Tezuka shrugged. He felt like sighing, but that let off a little too much steam. "Ayame-_san_," he said as explanation. "And Sawada. They double-teamed me."

Said object grinned again. "_Maa_, Tezuka. Sounds harsh. I feel like I'm a newborn taking my first steps."

Tezuka didn't say anything, but merely dutifully continued filming.

He watched as Fuji took his first stumble.

"About fifty five feet. Not bad," Tezuka commented monotonously.

"Why thank you, Doctor." Fuji beamed from the hallway floor.

Tezuka sealed the tiny, luminescent screen of the camcorder to stop it.

"Are you tired? Need me to help you back to your room?" Tezuka offered as he took Fuji's hand to hoist him from the floor.

Fuji graciously accepted the support, but lightly pushed Tezuka away when he was upright again. "_Saa_, I feel like walking a bit more. I'm definitely gaining more endurance; it's just the slight muscle spasms I have to watch out for."

"_Yuudan sezu ni ikou_."

A laugh.

"_Hai, hai_…"

With a benign smile on his face, Fuji waved away Tezuka's supporting arm. The sunlight spilled in from the generous windows in the hall of Fuji's private wing. It was near midday already, and the light streaked in to cast little patches of faded yellow on the pristine white tiled floor. Outside, creamy looking clouds graced the sky as the shocking green of an immaculate courtyard graced the windows' view.

Tezuka watched as Fuji half-walked, half-hopped his way back to the room. The taller man walked close behind, an attempt to stop Fuji from attempting something foolish and breaking an already fragile appendage.

"_Saa_… soon enough, I'll be out of here. _Ne_, Tezuka…" Fuji turned his head back when he had arrived at the doorframe and his slender hand was securely gripping the frame. There was a good-natured look on Fuji's face, almost cute in the way that Fuji's honey-colored locks spilled onto his slightly pink (from the exertion) skin, and the way that the sunlight accented the full lips and curving jaw line.

"Yes?"

"…Come with me when I leave?"

Humor? Confidence? There was no imprecation that release from the ward was anytime soon, anytime foreseeable. In fact, the more likely outcome was—

Tezuka felt a slight stab of guilt, but immediately quelled it with enormous self-control.

"We'll keep in touch after your release, Fuji," Tezuka said in a clipped tone after a brief internal battle with his conscience.

"Huh, I wonder about that." Fuji smiled wider, before ambling to his bed and plopping down with a soft sigh.

There were faint sounds of footsteps down the hallway. Tezuka walked out of the room to look. It was one of Fuji's regular nurses rounding the corner, coming with a hovering cart with the patient's midday meal and beverages.

Tezuka looked from the contents on the cart to the bright sun outside, and then back to Fuji, who was still looking amiable and now swinging his legs slightly over the edge of the bed.

"Fuji… do you feel like eating _tamagoyaki_ today?"

T3N541 looked a little surprised at the sudden question, but quickly replaced it with a grin when he saw the poorly disguised, but well controlled earnestness in Tezuka's face.

"Not particularly. Why? Is Miko-chan coming with the food now?"

Tezuka made a mental note that Fuji was yet again on first name basis with another of his female 'personal staff', while nodding the affirmative.

He walked out of the room, leaving a faintly amused Fuji. Miko-san, one of the few fully Japanese attendants in the hospital, was faintly pleased to see the handsome and '_cool_' Tezuka-san waiting in front of the door of Fuji's room in the hallway.

"Tsuyama-san, I hope you won't mind taking that back," Tezuka stated, indicating the trays of food. "I'm planning on taking up more of Fuji-san's noon time today. Please inform the staff downstairs."

She answered 'no', and 'of course it's alright', before smirking with something akin to what Tezuka thought was the feminine mystique and retracing her steps from before, down the hallway.

Tezuka let out a breath of air he didn't know he'd been holding, and walked back into Fuji's room. The said man was still sitting on his bed, but he had some normal street clothes clutched in his hands.

"Saa, Tezuka," Fuji said with an absurd grin on his beaming face. "Help me change into these?"

* * *

"_Arigatou_, _ne_."

Tezuka slowed as the two walked down the fairly crowded street. Fuji was doing pretty well against the tide of people on their lunch breaks. They were at the city sector outside the initial small forest area surrounding the hospital. There were some pretty popular cafés and restaurants around here that Tezuka never really got the chance to frequent during his years in a German pre-med program.

"What for?" Tezuka asked, honestly puzzled.

"That phone call took a while, didn't it? I guess the main office wasn't too happy that I was being taken out on such a short notice. But it was with you, so even they had to budge."

"Hn."

They walked into a more chic looking café (_La Bouche_) on Fuji's request. Tezuka had actually been to this one before, with some colleagues, since it was pretty renowned in the area—for it's bagels, it's scones, and the attractive young men and women who sometimes sat in the window counter seats to wait to be scouted by modeling agencies.

Tezuka held Fuji's hand as the smaller man ascended the small step to the carpet inside the café.

"Are you sure you don't need a hover crutch?" Tezuka asked.

Fuji offered quick reassurance. "_Heiki_, heiki. Let's just sit down and order quickly, Tezuka."

They sit down at some of the seats looking out the large glass windows facing the outside street, one of the novelties of this café, since most places had surround systems built on every wall for an amphitheater.

A waitress approached them. She had a slight accent Tezuka didn't place right away. Fuji smiled at her enchantingly before asking her about certain items in the main menu. He slipped a few words of French in there, and to Tezuka's surprise, the waitress responded likewise with "_C'est vrai, Monsieur._ That's a good choice."

Tezuka then remembered that the place was a popular French café (of course, he should have known primarily from the café's name). The only sort of cuisine he really had no luck finding in Germany was decent Japanese fare. Not that he'd spent much time looking. Tezuka wasn't particularly fond of French food, but seeing Fuji's delighted, inquisitive glances around the café and onto the street were enough.

Tezuka's cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He excused himself with a gesture as Fuji was still ordering.

The doctor glanced at the caller ID. It read 'Sawada'. The old uncomfortable guilty feeling settled back into his stomach, and Tezuka felt any little appetite he had developed during the walk being suppressed.

He went out of the glass doors of the café to take the call. This way, Fuji wouldn't have to know.

"Hello?"

"Ah… T-Tezuka. Hello there, how have you been?"

"Fine."

"Well… I called to tell you, the time of T3N541's first hearing has been decided."

The words came through loud and clear on Tezuka's quality model cell phone, even on the crowded street. Tezuka pressed the cell needlessly close to his ear anyhow.

"…When?" he said, his voice resolutely steady.

"…Soon." A pause, then…hesitantly. "…Is this call tapped?"

Tezuka brushed a loose thread from his chemise, and neatly side stepped a passerby walking his dog. "I doubt it. It's hardly legal."

"T3N541's first hearing is at the beginning of next week. That's all I can say for now. Tezuka… don't tell anyone." The doctor sounded strained.

Tezuka muttered an "I won't, Dr. Sawada." He had to admit, his appetite was completely drained, and it would be a challenge to look Fuji in the eye during lunch. The young medic steeled himself as the midday rush of people on the street continued.

He half-expected Fuji to pop up behind him and ask what the call was about…any moment now. When a bump to his back actually caused him to steel up considerably, Tezuka berated himself for his uncharacteristic lack of control. It was simply a pedestrian.

He vaguely registered saying goodbye before ending the call. It seemed they were almost out of time. Tezuka wasn't in charge of the files in Fuji's dossier—if he was, he felt somewhat inclined to simply manage the whole business himself.

He walked back into the café to see Fuji's gaze intently on his face.

A small dish of toast with some sort of spread over it was on the counter. Tezuka noticed the two beverages Fuji had ordered as well. Tezuka's was iced tea (he presumed Fuji had enough sense to get unsweetened). Fuji was sipping at a fruity looking drink that was a dubious shade of flamingo pink, with strands of what seemed to be kelp weaved through it. Tezuka didn't think it was French—or edible, for that matter.

Fuji quirked an eyebrow.

"Anything wrong?"

Tezuka shook his head before sitting down and taking a long swig of iced tea, as if it were some mind-numbing alcoholic beverage.

Fuji chuckled when his face turned an interesting pallor.

"It's _spicy_," Tezuka said when he'd acquired enough control not to splutter.

Fuji's lips were pressed together in a smile as pink as his drink. "Wanna switch, then?"

Tezuka wisely said no.

The brunette's eyes opened again to stare at Tezuka while the doctor finished his drink in a more calm fashion. Fuji seemed to size up Tezuka's poker face, before the smaller stature-ed man suggested they walk and do some sight seeing.

Feeling a tad more relaxed than before and having finished the drink, Tezuka paid for Fuji's toast and their beverages.

"Let's go then, Fuji."

The said man's gaze was back full force on Tezuka, who asked what was wrong.

Fuji made an indecipherably blank face at Tezuka before turning away.

Tezuka suppressed whatever irksome feeling he had while he waited for the receipt.

Fuji busied himself by smiling amiably and glancing not so discreetly at the pretty, tall girl in what looked like a very expensive outfit, seated at the window. Tezuka thought she was probably one of those aspiring models.

The waitress from before came back with the receipt. She was smiling and seemed to be bordering on laughing. Tezuka turned to see what was so funny.

Fuji was still amusing himself with the girl model hopeful. Fuji mimicked her eyebrow raise and her slouch perfectly before hopping down from his seat and taking Tezuka by the arm.

Tezuka was mildly amused.

They went out the door and down two blocks. After walking around a busy square and then some, Fuji started to limp. The shorter man lasted about twenty-five minutes of walking after that before collapsing against the wall of a popular photography and camera lens store.

When Tezuka hailed a cab back, he noticed the strange sullen look on Fuji's face.

In an effort to cheer the man up, Tezuka noted that all the guards and personnel on duty seemed to be taking donut breaks once they got back to the hospital. The machines were running on auto. Fuji finally smiled when Tezuka promised he'd buy him a 'futuristic donut filled with impossibly unhealthy things only the future could market'.

* * *

March 31st

Fuji recovered, as did his legs, from the exertion.

The head nurse had finally caught her ward after the initial lack of reception when Fuji and Tezuka had gotten back to the hospital wing the other day. She wasn't too happy with the patient's condition, however.

Tezuka decided he could spend quality time with Fuji another way, once he remembered just how fond his mother was of a quaint little home stereo and video system she kept in her room.

Fuji could taste a little more of the culture of the world around him… before he was shut off.

Tezuka would never admit it, but perhaps his guilt was affecting him a little more than usual.

That being decided, the young doctor postponed a flight to London by a month to make room for more time with T3N541. With so much extra time, Tezuka dutifully used his time to find the latest video feed from the cyber net. He unearthed his old entertainment-oriented laptop (it had been a discarded present from a high school friend) and tried going online.

It worked just fine, and the whole set was portable, so Tezuka dusted off the keys and three-way monitor panels before browsing film selections.

Tezuka was, finally, unable to choose between several of the films and several of the reality series. He opted for on demand shows and movies and music instead (Fuji would probably be happier choosing for himself, anyways) … being pretty handy with technology, the whole laptop system was set to go within half a night.

And that was the short of how, the next day, Tezuka walked in to Fuji Syusuke's room with the laptop under one arm.

"_Ohayo_, Tezuka. Is that a present?" Fuji smiled, indicating the device with his hand.

The young man in bed was propped up on a few pillows, but he managed to shift slightly to offer space for Tezuka to sit down on the bed, or at least put the interesting new device there in the hollow provided.

"Fuji…"

The man smiled at the warning in Tezuka's tone.

"Okay, I get it. Duty calls, Doctor."

The young doctor managed to get Fuji to not jump at the chance to skip his daily checklist questions and start watching 'educational clips' right away.

After Fuji raced through the mundane set of routines for the day with abnormal fervor, Tezuka rewarded the patient with the laptop, which he placed on Fuji's lap rather than on the bed sheets.

Fuji stared at the thin, smooth metal. Tezuka tapped the top of the device three times in succession, and the laptop whirred to life. The top lifted off by itself, but otherwise, Fuji was nonplussed, having seen such laptops in his day and age. What was quite neat, however, were the side panels that issued from the large rectangular main screen. The two 'wings' were made of the same material, and the screens, once turned on, blended into one image.

Fuji glanced at Tezuka, who was fiddling with some of the files now.

"Surround sound?"

"An ancient version of it," Tezuka admitted.

Fuji smiled. "Not so ancient for me."

"Hn."

"Do people still go to the movies?"

Tezuka had a pretty good grasp on World History. "Movies in the present are probably what you would call a near virtual reality experience. Recently developed, actually."

Fuji would have probed more, but Tezuka had opened a file for viewing.

The sound of music and bass rhythm was of excellent quality. Fuji's blue eyes snapped to alert as he stared avidly at the screen.

"Wow, it seems time really has progressed without me here…"

T3N541's tone was light, but Tezuka glimpsed the feverish look on Fuji's face as he watched the scenes progress from the protagonist's adventures through the modern pop culture landscape.

Fuji yearned for the outside world

Anyone could see that.

"_Ne_, Tezuka. The one with the purple eyes and waist-length hair." Fuji pointed towards the lean figure on the screen, who was being mobbed with fangirls below the stage brimming with glowing neon-like lights. "That's going to be me someday."

Tezuka opted for snorting, but he was unable to shake the way Fuji's eyes were glinting mischievously at the screen.

"I would look better with that outfit," Fuji stated with cheerful confidence.

Tezuka shocked himself by actually having the gall to say aloud to Fuji that he thought the shorter man would look better, too.

In response, the brunette gave a wide grin. "And my cheekbones are a hundred percent real, too."

Tezuka, upon closer observation at the pixilated image, agreed.

"Won't be long now…until this ends," Fuji added in a more subdued tone.

His honey locks were brushed neatly to one side today, and Fuji had developed the habit of tucking some strands behind one ear. What really caught Tezuka's attention, however, was the words Fuji had just said.

As if to demonstrate a point, or simply because Fuji saw the worried crease form on Tezuka's forehead, the petite man pointed to the screen, where the time-elapsed bar indicated that the end of the film was near.

The end… of the video.

Tezuka told himself to relax the tension building in his shoulders. He was simply reading too much into all this.

* * *

April 1st--

"Tezuka, today's the day I leave. Or should I say… night."

Tezuka's face remained placid.

Obviously, the warning he gave himself yesterday applied to tonight as well.

He checked his watch and brought up the hologram of the time and date. 'April 1st' it winked at him. Someone on the cyber net had even equipped a little 3-D graphic of a clown next to the date. Tezuka glanced at it with mild distaste, and reminded himself to get a more toned down watch.

"I'm amused. Go on," Tezuka said, and offered what he hoped was an acceptable smile to his patient. He poised his hand over the clipboard.

Fuji, who was sitting on the edge of the mattress with his legs propped neatly over the side, didn't seem that amused. Tezuka mentally noted the lack of the customary smile today.

The smaller man pointed towards the clipboard. "You're taking notes again,_ Sensei_?"

Tezuka knew that Fuji knew he didn't like being called 'sensei' by the brunette. Fuji was merely digging the title into Tezuka's side.

"I'm supposed to."

Fuji seemed more incensed than ever by this curt reply.

"Since when did you listen to everything other people tell you to do, Tezuka?"

Tezuka didn't make a move to reply. He could sense the tension in the air, but he resolutely ignored it.

Fuji was special, and he was the masterpiece that brought Tezuka to fame, but that was no reason for absolute 'special treatment'. After all, a patient needed to retain that essence of their relationship to the doctor. Tezuka told himself this, ignoring the palpitations that had been going on in his chest lately whenever this one patient smiled or frowned. He would never admit it, but even he was scared of the consequences of where such a relationship might be heading.

"Well?"

Tezuka felt his chest twinge. That spurred him on even further. That is, spurred Tezuka to ignore Fuji with more gusto.

Tezuka moved on to the next question on his list. "Fuji, what exercises did you do after dinner today?"

Fuji's blue eyes snapped open, clear and piercing and darkened with an emotion Tezuka couldn't comprehend.

"Tezuka. Stop messing around. Let's leave. Together."

Tezuka's hand stopped scribbling.

He raised his head to meet Fuji's gaze, expecting a smile, or a leisurely grin on the perfect face. All Tezuka saw was a frighteningly serene look.

"It's 8 p.m. already," Tezuka pointed out, still hoping this was a joke.

Fuji shrugged. "All the better. You said so yourself the other day that the nurses take their donut breaks and the security guards go and flirt with them."

Tezuka felt a sudden headache coming on. "Fuji… just because I revealed to you other people might be slacking off on their jobs—"

"Are you saying I misinterpreted your meaning?"

"Fuji, I—"

"You're saying you're not _coming_."

It sounded like an insult.

"_Listen to me_, Fuji."

It was Tezuka's best commanding voice. Demanding. Controlling. All things Fuji hated at a whim. But it was to be obeyed anyhow.

T3N541 stopped for a beat, but the burning fervor in his eyes hadn't subsided.

Tezuka turned his eyes away. His heartbeat had sped up. It was shameful the way Fuji's fickle nature could draw a response from him. Tezuka was about to return to his clipboard when he heard a soft whisper come from the bed.

"You're saying it's _too late_."

It was almost too soft to hear. Fuji's voice sounded weak, even worried. The façade was crumbling.

Tezuka's inner practicality cheered that he was somehow being tamed, and that Tezuka had perhaps somehow cracked into the soft interior of the mysterious Fuji Syusuke. At the same time, and with far more force, came another emotion. Regret. It sucked at Tezuka's pride and made the doctor feel a rushing onslaught of sadness, even slight confusion and panic, that Fuji was falling.

"…"

Nothing came out at such a crucial time. Tezuka didn't know if he would regret this later or not.

"You're saying that I'm going to be _quarantined_ after all," Fuji whispered.

Tezuka stiffened.

Fuji's long lashes masked his eyes, but Tezuka could still feel the hurt. The young doctor sat opposite, unmoving. They say any sane human would comfort another in such a situation.

Tezuka did want to offer condolences, but there were none that were fitting. He watched with morbid, stunned fascination as if a feral, wild animal was keening in despair, as if an impenetrable wall was beginning to crumble. The kind of fascination that was wrong but inevitable, that went against morals but fed human nature. He was only human, in the end. Ah. So he _was_ only human… and so was Fuji, for that matter.

His throat felt dry. Tezuka licked his lips, before offering to the pregnant silence:

"…How did you know?"

Fuji's response was tepid, monotonous. "I'm not a vegetable, you know."

Tezuka ran a hand through his hair, as he adjusted his glasses.

Fuji continued.

"I'm not going to stay idly still as you erect a little fence around me."

A small smile at his own metaphor played on the patient's face. Tezuka started.

"Fuji, it's not—I'm not—"

Fuji interrupted.

Another bombshell.

"Atobe Keigo—I got in touch, eventually." Fuji laughed suddenly. "I'm to call him again like some lovesick schoolgirl and escape through his connections. Sounds dramatic, doesn't it?"

Tezuka felt the heartbeats increase. He searched for words as he felt heat rise to his head. Vain, selfish, yet desirable Atobe… likely, the man would use Fuji for his own devices. Not that that wasn't what Tezuka was essentially using Fuji for… and all the other scientists and medical experts.

"That's… irresponsible, Fuji," Tezuka ground out. After what seemed like an eternity.

Fuji really chuckled at this. He broke into a wide, goofy grin that seemed to artificially light up his face again, and Tezuka felt mildly dazzled by Fuji's light dimples.

"So, the Master of Responsibility is going to lecture me now? Ha hahaa… I feel like I'm back in middle school…" Fuji's chuckles eventually subsided into silence again.

The silence was overbearing, but somehow, Fuji managed to break it again.

"_Mou_, Tezuka. You're staring me to death."

Tezuka's eyes narrowed in response.

What Fuji was doing was… mindless… Fuji still had trouble walking… dangerous… but so rational it troubled the medic. If it were up to Tezuka to decide… anything would be better than quar… no, no. The thought could not, would not, _should_ not be completed. Tezuka shoved it into the back of his head.

Fuji's voice broke him out of his reverie.

"Come with me, Tezuka."

_Those words…_

"I wouldn't need anyone or anything… if you came with me."

The hammering increased again.

The heartbeats. The stinging sensation. Tezuka wasn't one to question what they meant. They simply _were_. The sting and the hammering. Tezuka knew they were as real and present as Fuji's blue eyes, which were staring unwaveringly back at him.

"Come with m—"

It couldn't be.

Screw that the intoxicating effects of being by Fuji simply _were_.

This could not happen.

It would not.

"_No."_

Tezuka's gaze became level to Fuji's as tension crackled in the air again, this time being fed from Tezuka's end. Fuji's eyes widened in surprise at Tezuka's firm voice, at the resolute set of Tezuka's jaw, at the hard expression in his gaze.

"You don't mea—"

"I said '_no_', Fuji."

Fuji's smile whipped back on his face, but one eyebrow twitched slightly.

So… this game again.

Fuji seemed to pretend not to have heard Tezuka, to have not participated in this last thread of conversation. He started back on the topic of Atobe. Fuji's voice rushed and was uncharacteristically anxious. "So, I talked with him on that laptop you left with me yesterday. Even before that, we had a correspondence. After that party, you know, where you introduced us… well, Atobe came to meet me in the common courtyard outside my ward while pretending he had a friend in the normal sick ward… and then, Tezuka, and…

"H—he said he could find Yuuta and Yumiko _nee-san_'s descendants for me."

Fuji's voice faded out at the end, so that Tezuka had to strain to hear it.

The names of Fuji's siblings didn't take long to process. Tezuka had helped Sawada dig around to look for Fuji's personal records. Once they had found them, there wasn't much guilt in looking them through. Tezuka had even taken the liberty of memorizing some of Fuji's data.

Actually, it figured that Atobe had connections in Japan and could trace Fuji's lineage and discover his family's descendents.

The thought made something flare within Tezuka once again.

This madman's cycle.

Fuji wanted to escape.

Atobe wanted Fuji's escape.

Fuji wanted Atobe's connections.

Atobe would give it in return for Fuji himself.

And Tezuka… what did Tezuka want? For Fuji to not escape? For Fuji to stay in the hospital wing, locked up, with only doctors and an occasional allowed visitor? For Fuji to be quarantined, so that Tezuka would never, ever have to share what did not belong to him in the first place?

For Fuji to smile at him with that fake little grin for the rest of his life?

For… a little more than that?

Tezuka clenched his fist. "How could you bear to sneak away and hole up with people a century younger than you, who look your age?"

Fuji put on an expression that was akin to sulking, but the dull edge in his blue eyes showed a far more bitter emotion.

"I wouldn't hole in with them. I just want to know how they're doing. Nee-san was trying with her fiancée when I left them, so there's definitely at least one person in the family who put in an effort to reproduce. I just want to know."

Fuji's tone was becoming harsher, more clipped. Even the silence of the room seemed to vibrate slightly with the crescendo in Fuji's dangerously silky voice.

"I just want to try and be happy somewhere where I'll make my own rules. If you're a _doctor_, then stop killing me by the inches."

Fuji's eyes flashed. "I'm suffocating here, Tezuka, and you know it, too."

**Stalemate.**

Tezuka's face was grim. His voice was steady. "Leave, then. I won't be the one to stop you."

The doctor told himself Fuji would bow to reason. The patient still had trouble walking, for heaven's sake.

Fuji glared back. He gingerly covered a fourth of the room's floor space, testing the weight of his body on his legs. "Just think… If I were really 'Sleeping Beauty', I'd have a whole heck of a lot more stairs to climb down… without an elevator."

Fuji was out of the room by now. He waved tersely, his back to Tezuka.

Tezuka stayed rooted to the spot.

He closed his eyes, felt the need to rub the sore spot at the bridge of his nose, but his hand wouldn't move. Neither would his arm.

He heard footsteps. Suddenly, they increased in pace.

Tezuka's eyes remained closed.

So this was goodbye…

Tezuka caught the squeak of shoes on the polished tiles. He opened his eyes and turned to see if Fuji has started to run away, but was shocked when he just barely caught Fuji Syusuke by the waist as T3N541 fell awkwardly, half hugging Tezuka after the mad dash back again.

"Fuji—you—"

Tezuka wanted to say 'you've come back' or 'you've finally listened to reason' or something equally as pointless and clichéd by romantic dramas, but the words were quickly swallowed.

Because this wasn't a homecoming hug.

It was a farewell embrace.

The moment seemed frozen in time, as if Fuji had the power to stop the relentless clock for even more than 84 years. Tezuka righted Fuji's smaller body without a word, while Fuji gripped the sleeve of Tezuka's shirt for balance, keeping his head down.

Fuji's tone was light. Like back when they first met.

Tezuka couldn't see Fuji's eyes.

"Thank you, then, Prince Charming-_san_. I appreciate it, although you didn't even try to kiss me by the book."

Tezuka could almost hear the mischievous, light, floating ghost of a smile on Fuji's face. Almost.

Somehow, despite the security and the improbability of it all, the doctor knew that T2N541 would succeed in this… this—this what?

**Was this really stalemate?**

Fuji turned and sprinted lopsidedly out again.

Tezuka watched him go this time.

* * *

Old yellow bricks,  
Love's a risk,  
Quite the little _Escapoligist_  
Looked so miffed,  
When you wished,  
For a thousand places better than this,

You are the fugitive,  
But you don't know what you're runnin' from,  
You can't kid us,  
And you couldn't trick anyone,  
Houdini, love, you don't know what you're runnin' away from,

Who wants to sleep in the city that never wakes up?  
Blinded by nostalgia,  
Who wants to sleep in the city that never wakes up?

'_Old Yellow Bricks' _

Arctic Monkeys

* * *

**Suzu: Gahh. This one took so long. And it didn't turn out quite well, did it? Sorry, really. If anyone would like revamping, I would be more than happy to. It's just that application time has rolled around. I'm staring at the summer before senior year. My writing, on the other, really seems to have degraded some (probably the lack of time).**

**The mood swings were also hard to write. It's painstakingly delicate, the emotions of both Fuji and Tezuka in this piece. On one hand, Tezuka is struggling with Fuji and Fuji's attempted departure, but he's also struggling with his pride, his sense of morality, and whatever feelings he might be developing. **

**Fuji, also, desperately wants freedom, and to be linked back to more familiar times (thus, he seeks his family), but he also wants Tezuka to go with him. This is selfish, but without being selfish, it is impossible for Fuji to have made it this far. **

**So all in all, wouldn't 'normal' people go abnormal in situations like this?**

**So… what happens to Fuji? Anyone up for some light ToFu?**

Next time: Awake

**Comments and Critique?**

**Bombard the authoress with your thoughts, ne?**

**They're always incredibly fun to read, and also greatly thought-provoking. Thank you to everyone, really!**

**Ja, **

**  
Suzu**

* * *

**Mini Glossary**: (some terms included in previous glossaries are not repeated)

'Cool'- anyone watch Ouran? 'cool type' is basically that stereotypical silent and stoic bishonen many women tend to 'prefer'. Kyouya (the host) is a good example.

_Hai, hai_…- _okay, okay_

_Ne_, _Tezuka- although 'ne' translates to 'right?', in this phrase, 'ne' is like an opener such as 'hey'. Translated, the whole thing is 'Hey, Tezuka…'_

_Tamagoyaki- Japanese rolled omelete_

_Arigatou_, _ne- again, a 'ne' usage. Here the whole phrase is: "Thanks". The 'ne' just adds like nuance like: "Hey, thanks a lot."_

_La Bouche- French for 'The Mouth'_

_Heiki- I'm fine_

_C'est vrai, Monsieur- French for: "That's true, Mr."_

_Ohayo- Good morning_

_Mou- Sort of like a "geez" phrase or, mildly, "sheesh"_


	6. Arc 3: Annulment

Disclaimer: Suzu disclaims

**Disclaimer: Suzu disclaims.**

**Suzu: Thank you so much for all the kind feedback. I hope you'll keep reading and enjoying in future chapters. This story is now entering its last phase, so please support it to its end, ne? Now, let's get the show started, shall we?**

**Warnings: slightly more explicit shonen-ai in this chapter. Still comfortably under PG-13, though.**

* * *

Sleeping Beauty

Annulment

Arc Three

* * *

……………………………..

The more you open your mouth  
The more you're forcing performance  
All the attention is leading me to feel important (completely obnoxious)  
Now that we're here, we may as well go too far

Wriggling around just so that you won't forget  
There's certainly some venom in the looks that you collect  
Aimlessly gazing at the blazers in the queue  
Struggling with the notion that it's life not film

This house is a circus, berserk as fuck  
We tend to see that as a perk though. Look  
What it's done to your friends their memories are pretend  
And the last thing they want is for the feeling to end

This house is a circus, berserk as fuck  
We tend to see that as a perk though. Look  
What it's done to your friends their memories are pretend  
And the last thing they want is for the feeling to end

'This House is a Circus'

-Arctic Monkeys

…………………………………………………..

* * *

April 2--

The spacious courtyards and wide natural slopes of the green hills reminded Fuji of less complicated days in a Chiba Prefecture park, in Japan.

The trees hadn't been as green, nor the grass as painstakingly manicured, but the feeling they evoked was more or less the same.

The clouds overhead were startlingly bright and whipped. When the breeze blew the strands of Fuji's honey-colored hair into disarray, Fuji put up a hand to shield his eyes from the gust. The fields rolled on lazily, as if in a perpetual summer. The day was sunny, and in the winding air currents Fuji smelled the fragrance of flowers and fauna and, most of all, money.

The whole place dripped of money and wealth and country estate.

Fuji told himself he didn't mind it.

"That tousled look suits you, Fuji Syusuke."

Fuji turned his head to look at the source of the voice. The tenor was rich and inviting, full of confidence and a suaveness that bordered on egoistic, at best.

"Atobe."

The young heir strode in his patented Irish linen suit past the emerald green slope. He was a striking figure, but then again, so was Fuji. The latter's borrowed cream chemise set off a milk and honey complexion, complete with the striking blue orbs that currently gazed into Atobe's gray ones.

"I'm hurt. Ore-sama has told you many times to use 'Keigo' instead. We're friends, aren't we?"

Fuji shrugged, and turned away in the opposite direction, but couldn't help the soft smile that tugged on his lips as he did so. Just what Atobe's definition of 'friend' was couldn't be a good thing. Atobe caught the smile, and knowingly came closer to the spot where Fuji was sitting cross-legged.

"You do look fetching as of now. Ore-sama approves, though it might be because that's my shirt you're wearing," Atobe commented.

Fuji smiled, but this one was less genuine.

"The flattery is getting to me…Atobe."

Atobe didn't seem to mind. He laughed instead, in his sexy tenor.

"I see. Usually, I stop myself, since things up to Ore-sama's standards are hard to come by nowadays. It must be the sun getting to Ore-sama, then."

It was true. The sunlight was bright and shining down on the wide, open spaces with a glowing quality. Atobe, still smirking, leaned directly over Fuji's reclining figure and held out a hand.

"Come, Syusuke, or Fuji… or whatever you prefer to be called."

Fuji took the hand. He hoisted himself up to his feet lightly, pressing minimally on Atobe's manicured hand.

Atobe commended his progress without a hover crutch. Fuji had the decency to keep from chortling on the mention.

They walked.

"So, how do you like it?"

Atobe casually waved a hand in mid-air. Fuji didn't have to guess to know the zaibatsu heir was talking about the summer villa. The runaway man hadn't counted all the rooms yet, but judging by the long stretch of hallway that he'd been pushed down by a servant last night, just to get to what Atobe deemed a 'suitable guest room', this summer retreat could easily rival a hospital wing.

"The lawns are nice," Fuji offered out of politeness.

"Hn. Wait 'til you see the revolving tennis courts. The swimming pools. And the gardens, too. A hundred percent organic. Be awed by the prowess of Ore-sama's gardeners. Even Ore-sama must admit, the set of hirelings here in Germany show skill superior to those at the mansion in _Karuizawa_."

Memories of the popular Japanese tourist location flooded Fuji's mind, against his will. Scenes of Yuuta, Yumiko, the other families' children… and lazy summer days spent without their father's imposing presence via telephone lines.

"Aah."

"You'll be going there soon, aboard Ore-sama's private jet."

Atobe covered up the space left by Fuji's silence by waxing lyrical on superfluous facts about the German summer house, and the numerous facilities that would be Fuji's to use.

He did look back a moment, though, stopping his confident gait long enough to scrutinize Fuji's face.

There were no signs of weakness, but Atobe's gaze seemed to spark with knowing.

"They'll be looking for you, you know."

Fuji found that he was peeking at a new side of the vain Atobe. This one was a lot more ruthless, and it riled Fuji as much as it scared him, just a little. The dark glow in his eyes was mesmerizing in a different sort of way than Tezuka's steely gaze.

Tezuka… Kunimitsu.

Why did he just think of…

Fuji left the thought unfinished.

They would be looking for him. That's true. There's no way it would be false.

Another step. The blades of grass below were impossibly green. Fuji didn't know why, but he sidestepped onto the cobbled walkway. Atobe kept along side, treading not so lightly on the impeccable grass.

Fuji smiled at Atobe, because he knew that _he_ knew.

The only relationship they had was one of debt.

And Atobe expected it to be paid off within this lifetime.

* * *

"The system transmission shows overload at about eight p.m. last night. The overall problem was not solved until hours after."

"Has hospital security always been this frickin' bad?"

"No. I assure you, there are numerous firewalls and viral shields, as well as nearly 60 information screens to block out noise. We employ security identification at checkpoints. No one from the outside can get in, even if the system crashes."

"But the system still shut down like a 20th century light bulb last night."

"…Yes."

"And one patient was kidnapped."

"…W-well now…"

"You want to say it was planned? Damn it, why didn't security step up sooner?!"

"A-ahh. You see, this is unusual because…"

"Spit it out."

"… There was viral penetration, true…"

"…"

"…But…"

"But?"

"Someone c-cut our main power supply as w-well. In the few minutes it took to switch over to an alternate energy source, almost all our computer automated security had been breached."

"You're saying cameras, 80 of reception desks, pad key locks…"

"N-no! … I mean, y-yes, but don't get upset. It's really quite u-unusual. Our power system…"

A pause.

"O-our main power supply is fed from two sources, one is a private company, and the other is, indirectly, from the government. The main power flow was shut down for _hours_. That's too long for a glitch. The government didn't even give us a warning. The patient equipment could have been affected if it wasn't for the reserve power we use especially for medical benefits. The viral breach, too… it wasn't the work of an amateur or hobbyist, or even a start up team. I-it was definitely the work of a hired viral specialist, who was commissioned for an enormous amount of money to do this specific job."

"So you're saying…?"

"I-I'm saying, sir, that the kidnappers who did this probably have enough power and connections to storm the hospital with firearms and a medium sized army… if they wanted to. I can only think of a handful of people and organizations in the world who would have the resources to do that, and even mess with the government energy tank."

A curse, muttered under the breath.

"S-sir… that's not all. Even if all this happened, no one from the outside should have been able to get into the main building without a major detonation device … with all the physical security to protect from outside intrusion, I just don't understand..."

"…What?"

"A kidnapping is just not possible."

* * *

The library was astonishing, to say the least.

The ceiling was a vaulted dome with books lined from top to bottom, arranged cylindrically and, Fuji noted, covered with a fair amount of dust, as one got progressively higher.

"What, no chandelier?" he joked.

Fuji's delicate figure was tucked away neatly on an impossibly large sofa, which was lumpy and antique and garishly ornate all at the same time. The rich brocaded cushions themselves looked to be nearly as old as some of the books.

"That's in the other room. Several, actually," Atobe drawled from behind an obstruction of carved figurines and antique furniture and dusty globes. Fuji saw a hand wave at the dark, no doubt 100 solid, mahogany panels that led out into a corridor resembling something like a castle hall. A medieval one.

"It's a little dark and… un-contemporary," Fuji remarked, while patting the nearest cushion.

Atobe's voice drifted from a little farther away. Fuji couldn't see what the man was doing, since the circular room was filled with expensive looking displays of history.

"The ceiling dome retracts."

There was the sound of shuffling leafs of paper.

"Renovated some years ago. Ore-sama viewed the stars from here as a child."

Fuji smiled as he imagined a younger Atobe, petulant and perspicacious, probably, viewing the stars and probably thinking he was on par with them.

"Renovated, huh. Unlike anything else here." Fuji gave a little cough to emphasize his point.

"Ore-sama graciously led you to the library so that you might feel young in comparison. No one uses it, and the servants don't enjoy reading political fancy in their native language, so it goes uncleaned."

Fuji had to muffle a chuckle. So thoughtful of Atobe, really. He did feel younger already, in this environment.

A few notes from a keyboard drifted to where Fuji was reclining.

A harpsichord.

Not very resonant, but enough, given the excellent acoustic design of the tower like room.

Fuji called out to the musician.

"You play, Atobe?"

The now familiar voice drifted back with a plethora of notes.

"Not very well, compared to Ore-sama's countless other talents, but well enough to inspire a receptive mind."

Fuji hummed along. Atobe did play well. The notes were crisp and clean, but then again, this was a fairly simple melody.

The harmonic sequence rose and fell before echoing off the walls and bouncing back to the ears of the two people in the room.

Fuji closed his eyes. He was getting used to the stale smell of the books now, and the dim atmosphere was strangely comforting. Perhaps Atobe had planned this all along.

Maybe…

When the host walked over to the sofa after having finished, he was mildly surprised to see Fuji breathing evenly, and for all purposes seemingly asleep with his chin tilted up as his head rested against the back of the sofa. Cocoa locks shadowed his forehead while a strand teased the full pinkness of one lip.

Atobe noted that Fuji looked more peaceful when he wasn't smiling.

* * *

Sluggish.

The whole ordeal turned sluggish as soon as the kidnapping event rippled through the inner circles.

Seacrest was probably within reach of a psychiatric ward by now. Some of their sponsors had hastily retreated, while others gave more funds in hopes that money would help find T3N541. Sawada had flown to North America to assure some important people in an east coast conference within the U.S.A. that things were under control.

And the hearing.

The hearing was nearing day by day.

The whole team had gone to a lot of trouble to push the case through the lower level international courts, some of which were conveniently located in Europe. Although the case was not ready to be heard by the International Court of Justice, the ICJ had picked up a few hints and given the case its first hearing, within a lower court, on a date set in April.

The only thing left was to find T3N541.

They had started to dispatch covert operations, with their now limited funds, to find the patient. Within Europe, they had stationed former hospital employees to hang around all major transportation stations, while private detectives scanned other areas for signs of suspicion.

The kidnappers couldn't have taken him far.

The only thing left was to find Fuji Syusuke.

But who could?

* * *

"Are you awake yet?"

The voice was slightly amused, slightly impatient, but mostly just normal in a diva-esque fashion.

Fuji's eyelashes fluttered as he opened his eyes and looked to see Atobe's face, which was only a foot away and admittedly strikingly handsome.

"You were muttering names in your sleep, and they were not Ore-sama's own," the man informed him.

Fuji gave a noncommittal yawn in response.

"You wound Ore-sama duly today, Fuji." Atobe smirked. It looked like he was anything but bothered by the fact that his guest wasn't at his feet in worship already. Even if it irked him, the man seemed to have supreme confidence in his ability to get Fuji to play his game, eventually.

The ex-patient of nearly 12 hours blinked several times, before opening his eyes and revealing the blue irises beneath.

Atobe's own gaze was unwavering, and the smug look on his face seemed to intensify at Fuji's daring.

There were no smiles exchanged.

Fuji lips were slightly parted as he breathed, as if he were still resting. Atobe's lips, which were quirked at one end, simply didn't pass for a genuine smile.

"Did you sleep well, last night? Ore-sama had a luxury mattress prepared and fluffed beforehand, but Ore-sama is sure all the excitement made sleep quite impossible."

"Quite."

Fuji tilted his head slowly to the other side of the couch, baring a porcelain-like expanse of skin at the neck and collarbone.

Atobe shifted in response, now that he was also half-seated on the sofa. Fuji looked weightless, like a doll, white and cream and pink, laid back against a pile of cushions. Caramel colored locks made dusky by the dim setting brushed against his forehead and slender neck, while some strands dipped into the v-neck of the borrowed chemise.

The smooth cotton pooled around Fuji's slight frame, more so than it would have on Atobe's toned one. But that only added to the effeminate aura of the man.

Atobe's gaze didn't shift from Fuji's open eyes as the man's hand fingered the hem of the borrowed shirt. "You're a little thin, aren't you? Might make Ore-sama mistake you for a frail individual…" he breathed.

Only the ancient sofa protested as Atobe moved closer. Fuji could feel said man's words on his skin. It smelled of spearmint.

"…If it weren't for those eyes of yours…" Atobe's smirk waned, replaced by contemplation, and he raised a finger to brush away a loose strand of hair that had fallen into Fuji's eyes.

"They're not unreadable, you know."

Fuji didn't move. So Atobe continued.

"People probably just look away too soon before they try to understand. Intimidating, terrifyingly deep, yes. Ore-sama, of course, is not to be slighted in that fashion."

Even closer. Atobe's eyes were gray, but there were flecks of other metallic colors.

"Open you eyes, Fuji, and keep them open."

Fuji couldn't even smell the stale library air anymore. Spearmint. It wasn't overwhelming, but it was overpowering. Atobe was, in a sense.

Closer.

'_You owe Ore-sama one'_

'_I owe you one'_

Atobe's lips brushed Fuji's.

Fuji's eyes remained open. So did Atobe's, which were fixed upon Fuji's face as if in challenge.

It passed.

But even then, Atobe was only an inch off.

He returned.

Atobe was a good kisser. Teasing and sensual. The angle was tilted at a perfectionist's level, and Atobe's hands cradled Fuji's jaw.

His hands were warm.

Strange. Fuji would have thought them to be—

"Cold. Fuji, your face. It's cold."

Atobe withdrew, sighing slightly as he broke eye contact.

"So are your eyes. They're cold, icy, even, and perturbed," Atobe observed. "What really pisses Ore-sama off a little is because it's someone else who's the cause."

The smug look returned, but there was a deeper glow to Atobe's steel-gray eyes.

"_Naa_, Fuji… did you kiss that other person yet?" Atobe voice was practically velvet.

Fuji closed his eyes. He could see a certain medical specialist on the back of his eyelids.

'_Sense_i' was frowning.

When he opened them, Atobe's face came into view again.

"_Iie_. You know I wouldn't."

Atobe's eyebrow quirked slightly. The smile remained. "Ore-sama thought so… you're the type that ultimately likes to play hard-to-get, aren't you? But still… Ore-sama wonders…"

Fuji smiled for Atobe then. It wasn't a nice one, full of politeness and sweetness. It was a dangerous smile, an appreciative one that held more invite than any of the other smiles so far.

One that said 'good job, you got it right thus far… keep going'.

Atobe was a gentleman at heart and obliged, but physically. He leaned forward again to capture Fuji's rosy lips, drawing back just enough to whisper:

"Regardless, since you woke up, Ore-sama has got your first, second, and third kiss now, Fuji Syusuke…"

Fuji closed his eyes.

One for his escape.

One for Yuuta.

One for Yumiko.

He owed Atobe nothing now.

Fuji shifted back his weight, but Atobe was insistent. When Fuji turned his head, the other man moved down the column of white throat that was exposed.

A sigh escaped Fuji's now free lips. Atobe might have taken it as encouragement. The smaller figured man noticed that an embroidered cushion was poking him oddly at his back. Saa… he supposed that was all right. He didn't have any right to be comfortable in his current situation, anyhow.

Fuji wondered when Atobe would realize he wasn't responding. It was strange, but his body felt numb all over. And cold. Fuji tilted his head, and although that granted access, it also allowed him to look at the ceiling dome above. And wonder if there was daylight beyond.

And if Tezuka was basking in it.

* * *

_April 4__th__—_

Three days now. This was the beginning of the third.

Tezuka told himself that because it was better than the beginning of the fourth day.

It was, logically.

Rationally.

Fuji, he…

…wasn't rational at all.

Tezuka's mood wasn't improving thinking about such things. But there was nothing left to think about.

Technically speaking, Tezuka was an already established medic, with a successfully physically awakened comatose patient—one for the history books. Time had gone on without Fuji in the immediate picture, it seemed.

Tezuka had got the call and many, many congratulatory E-mAil notifications on his cell, informing him of his nomination for the Hawser Prize. The London circles all knew his name now, with the help of Sawada and a few well-placed promotion sponsors. Oxford wanted a strictly exclusive Q and A session with distinguished students. The world seemed to continue on its axis, indeed. The problem was, if information got around that there were possible mental repercussions from his procedure, and that the psychological instability of a patient after treatment led to this disappearance… well, it would be a stain. Not a large one, since Tezuka's job was only to wake Fuji's body and conscious mind.

Whether Fuji was really _awake_ or not… even Tezuka doubted.

Human beings could not be awake until they smiled real smiles, cried real tears, and stopped running away from their—

Tezuka's thought stopped short.

Any more and he would have been a hypocrite. He was one already, technically.

The ache in his upper torso had not stopped since April Fool's. It may have started even before that date. So far, Tezuka had failed to identify it, and had likewise failed to wish to identify it.

Hypocrite.

Even if Tezuka told himself the ache wasn't a real problem, denying the definition of 'problem' would only serve to heighten the extent of the hypocrisy.

People he'd see in the hospital during those few minutes he actually left his office and apartment mentioned that he looked paler and more somber than ever. Tezuka went to and left work, attended meetings, discussed with the medical team. He'd gotten new offers for jobs, lectures… quite a few good ones.

But he hesitated.

His job with T3N541 was not done, as the patient was not fully, truly, psychologically conscious and functioning—awake, per se.

Not completing a job was careless.

And Tezuka was not careless.

Thinking about job completion turned Tezuka's thoughts to the private ops that his team, especially Seacrest and a faction he, inside his head, dubbed 'Ayame's father and his group of supporters', had hired. It was no that these hirelings were professionals, but even if they could keep their mouth shut, there was no guarantee that they could get Fuji back before someone else noticed that he was missing.

Especially since T3N541's first hearing was fast approaching. That thought by itself, coupled with the anxiety over the possible ruling, seemed to dig itself a permanent home somewhere in his chest.

But he didn't tell on Fuji.

Because…(to be incredibly like the romantic nonsense his mother read in her collection of novels), Tezuka knew he wanted Fuji to come back on his own.

The reason for such revelation was yet unexplored.

* * *

"'_Okaeri_' is what you should say."

Fuji turned around slowly to see Atobe standing behind the leather couch. The man had on a dove gray suit, over a faintly off white collared shirt, and a tie made of heavy silk, which he loosened and threw on the back of the couch with abandon. It was clear that the afternoon meeting had stretched on and worn Atobe out, even a little. His hair wasn't immaculate, but Fuji noted dully that for all of Atobe's moneyed materialistic habits, the man was like vintage… better worn. The loss of sleekness only accentuated Atobe's natural good looks.

Fuji turned back to the moving pictures on the three walls before him. It was like a mini theater, but what was truly a blessing was the multitude of channels available on Atobe's prepaid services.

"You didn't say '_tadaima_'," he responded.

Atobe ignored that comment.

He set out on a different subject instead.

"Ore-sama cannot comprehend why you prefer that wall size television set. Isn't the virtual theatre Ore-sama had installed in the building right over the lawn? It's about the same distance from your room, Syusuke."

Fuji noted that they were on first name terms now. Interesting. Otherwise, his eyes stayed glued to the screens in front of him.

Clinks of crystal were heard from the other end of the room. After a short while, Atobe sat down next to Fuji on the couch, holding what smelled suspiciously of expensive alcohol.

"How was your business meeting?" Fuji finally said during a commercial break.

Atobe swirled his glass. "Ore-sama went and conquered. The merger is secure."

Fuji didn't respond.

Atobe raised the glass towards him. "Try it. It's good stuff."

Fuji carefully took what was offered. The smell was unusual, tangy and heady. The liquid itself was a dark cherry red. "What kind is it? A mix?"

Atobe smirked. "Ore-sama doubts you had it in your day. Even now, the proletarians out there would have trouble affording such a drink."

Fuji handed it back. "No thanks. I can't stomach alcohol."

Atobe frowned slightly. Obviously, Fuji was lying. The businessman shrugged, though, and downed the small crystal glass.

Atobe poured a bubbling amber liquid into a tall thin glass next. Fuji hadn't pegged Atobe as an alcoholic; mostly, it seemed that wine sampling and collecting was just an 'elitist' hobby of the Ore-sama's. Or that Atobe was celebrating the merger.

"Only two to three percent in this kind," he nudged.

"Is it not found in 'my day'?"

"Of course. Ore-sama thought you should get acquainted with finer drinks of the modern lifestyle."

Fuji pushed it away. "I make it a rule to not drink alcohol that's younger than I am."

Atobe sighed in resigned frustration, and put the glass down on a small, elevated tray beside the couch. He scanned Fuji, who was wearing an overly large pull over with denim-less jeans.

"Have you lost weight?"

Fuji didn't turn his head. Instead, he pulled his knees up closer to his chin. The position seemed to keep Atobe a good foot away, anyhow.

"In three days, Ato—Keigo?"

Atobe looked smug at Fuji's usage of his first name, just like he'd requested. He extended one manicured hand and placed it on Fuji's.

"Ore-sama believes you look about as tired as you are cold. You're in no condition to fly a good distance overseas in this state, Syusuke."

Fuji ignored him.

"We may have to postpone your trip…"

That struck a nerve.

Fuji's eyes whipped full force onto Atobe's face. The icy blue gaze accented the pallor of his skin. Fuji looked… terrifying and, underneath, terrified.

Atobe didn't flinch.

"Ore-sama approves of your forceful reaction… much better than moping around. Ore-sama was merely speculating, anyhow. You know, Fuji_, they're_ looking for you."

Atobe's grin never wavered as Fuji turned back to the screen, regardless of the fact that that particular commercial was one they'd both already seen 4 times in the span of 25 minutes. Observant as he was, the businessman didn't fail to notice that Fuji's brow was slightly crinkled.

"Ore-sama will let you stay here, Syusuke, on a condition. You have to make a choice, since Ore-sama essentially despises ambivalence," Atobe stated calmly.

Atobe leaned forward to tap a panel on the coffee table that turned the screens off. Pictures flickered for a second before satellite disconnected itself.

Fuji was left staring at the blank screens, and Atobe at Fuji.

The seconds seemed to tick by like hours, as Fuji waited for Atobe to state his terms.

* * *

Sawada's cell phone and watch buzzed to life. A small, automated voice spoke to the empty hotel bedroom.

_Remind…_

_Reminde… …_

_Reminder… … …_

_Due to Court:_

_Patient to the IHND: International Hospital of Neurological Disorders_

_Code: T3N541_

_Name: Fuji Syusuke_

_Date: pending… pending…_

_April 8__th_

_Further notification will be given if any scheduling changes arise._

Click.

* * *

**Suzu- I hope the ToFu was satisfactory. It's my first time. Also, disclaimer on some of legal proceedings. I tried to make it as realistic as needed, but I do have creative license for the future AU setting.**

**This chapter was originally intended to be longer, but I wanted to update already. Labor Day is for labor, after all. XD In the process, I added a scene to the next chapter, so it should be a better read. Lolz.**

**So, click the review button, ne? It's good for the soul and for the finger joints. **

**Ja ne, **

**Suzu**

**Mini Glossary:**

_Karuizawa- a popular vacation spot in Japan. _

_Iie- no_

_Okaeri- meaning, 'Welcome back', or 'Welcome home'. A customary Japanese greeting for the person in the house prior to welcome back the person returning._

_Tadaima- usually, the person coming back/home says 'I'm home/back'. Okaeri is the follow up for the other person to say._


	7. Arc 4: Abyss

Sleeping Beauty~

Abyss~

Arc Four

* * *

Recap:

"_Ore-sama believes you look about as tired as you are cold. You're in no condition to fly a good distance overseas in this state, Syusuke."_

_Fuji ignored him._

"_We may have to postpone your trip…"_

_That struck a nerve. _

_Fuji's eyes whipped full force onto Atobe's face. The icy blue gaze accented the pallor of his skin. Fuji looked… terrifying and, underneath, terrified. _

_Atobe didn't flinch. _

"_Ore-sama approves of your forceful reaction… much better than moping around. Ore-sama was merely speculating, anyhow. You know, Fuji__, they're__ looking for you."_

_Atobe's grin never wavered as Fuji turned back to the screen, regardless of the fact that that particular commercial was one they'd both already seen 4 times in the span of 25 minutes. Observant as he was, the businessman didn't fail to notice that Fuji's brow was slightly crinkled. _

"_Ore-sama will let you stay here, Syusuke, on a condition. You have to make a choice, since Ore-sama essentially despises ambivalence," Atobe stated calmly._

_Atobe leaned forward to tap a panel on the coffee table that turned the screens off. Pictures flickered for a second before satellite disconnected itself. _

_Fuji was left staring at the blank screens, and Atobe at Fuji. _

_The seconds seemed to tick by like hours, as Fuji waited for Atobe to state his terms. _

…………………………………………………

"Two choices."

Atobe's tone was smooth and unyielding.

"Ore-sama can help you, Fuji-kun, if you choose to stay with Ore-sama for life. You'll be provided for as long as it is within the Atobe zaibatsu's grasp."

Atobe's smile faded as he continued. "'Why?' you're probably itching to ask. To put it simply, Ore-sama is intrigued… not once in my life has something alike to you shown up. You're full of contradictions, you know that? Those contradictions attract me."

Fuji made no move as Atobe shifted on the couch, to pour himself another drink.

"It's also Ore-sama's duty to disclose this information to you, Fuji Syusuke, since it is relevant. Your doctor friends are looking for you…" Atobe drawled as he swirled his glass thoughtfully. His voice was laced with condescension as he seemed to ponder the plight of those less privileged and less impervious to the world's woes than himself.

"Really, Ore-sama didn't know what was _possibly_ taking them this long, but it seems a search is finally to be made on my villas and summer homes. They didn't want to risk offending the Atobe zaibatsu by making it first on their search list, as Ore-sama does grant a hefty endowment to their pocketbooks… but they seem to be finally making their moves about now. Just to let you know…"

Atobe regarded Fuji's face with a curious, almost-hungry look, as if searching for reaction. Finally, the petite man whispered:

"…When?"

"Should be starting day after tomorrow… week's end or beginning of next week for this particular summer lodge, at the latest."

"Oh."

Atobe muffled a low chuckle at Fuji's response. He continued. "So… Ore-sama was planning on leaving end of this week… and bringing you with me. It won't be to Japan, as you had hoped, seeing they'll eventually think to look there, too. Besides, it's too risky to lend to chance the possible failure of Ore-sama's corporation, if they found you with me."

"Saa… it would give you a bad name. They'll have international reporters all over both of us."

Atobe's lips curled in approval.

"Good. Ore-sama is delighted you understand."

Fuji continued, his expression carefully blank.

"Meaning, your career is more important." It wasn't a question.

Atobe looked a bit perplexed. "It would be utter idiocy to throw Ore-sama's career out the window. After all these years of Atobe legacy…"

"Stop," Fuji breathed softly.

Atobe's voice subsided, but the businessman seemed to inhale and prepare to demand an explanation for Fuji's behavior. Fuji cut him off before he could start again.

"Just stop. I understand… I really do." Fuji laughed softly under his breath, as his expression became a wry grin. "It's stupid," he murmured.

Fuji moved, as if in mild discomfort. Atobe reached to brush the bangs that fell into the smaller man's eyes away, but Fuji batted his hand away in annoyance. His blue eyes flashed.

"But you know…" he began in an even voice. "I really wouldn't understand. I don't have _anything_ left. Atobe, you have everything, including that legacy of yours. Me… I gave up everything…"

Fuji's voice dimmed to little more than a whisper, as the icy blue in his eyes wavered and became like water for a split second.

"Everything… for freedom, and look what I got in reality. A sham."

Atobe's expression was a mix of mild confusion and frustration. "Syusuke, what—"

The hospital runaway turned the full force of his gaze upon Atobe's own; it nearly bowled the zaibatsu heir over to see the rage in Fuji's eyes, and the finesse and control in the set of his mouth.

There was no smile, but there was no frown, either. In Fuji's eyes, Atobe read the churning of multiple thoughts, all vying for dominance. There was anger at realization, but more at self…

Atobe still lived according to society, Fuji realized, despite his awe-inspiring power to waive its rules and regulations due to his place in it. But Atobe embraced the rules, nonetheless… because they favored him.

The rules favored him.

That was just it, right?

Fuji's hands gripped the denim of his borrowed pants.

Careers again.

Legacy again.

Those rules. Made for the people who would rule, could rule, _wanted_ to rule.

More important … that was that, wasn't it?

Fuji Syusuke couldn't accept that.

After all, Fuji had nothing left. He gave up everything for freedom.

To him, the thrill of life had nothing to do with rules, to winning or losing, to consequences. Until he found something worth pursuing with his life, he would continue protecting his _right _to pursue anything, anything at all during this lifetime.

And that was that.

Realization struck that there was no way he could love or learn to love living with Atobe for life. Fuji would never want to. Never planned to, in the first place.

"Atobe…" he began.

_Thank you, but…_

_It's you who doesn't understand…_

Who do you think you are to…

_I want out right now. Take me back…_

_Stop it… stop caging me in…_

The words come out slowly, methodically.

"Atobe, let me go."

The zaibatsu heir's expression hardly changed, except for the quirk of one eyebrow and a slight narrowing of his steel gray eyes. Atobe Keigo took it calmly, as a boss accustomed to the multitude of whines and pleas from below him. The man was a manipulator, a negotiator, the person who dealt the cards at perfect ease because he had the skill to twist his way to the final victory anyhow.

His next words were perfect—chosen to target the only connection Atobe thought Fuji had—clung to—in this moment of seeming crisis.

"You do know, Fuji, that you won't see your relatives if this plan of action proceeds..."

Tyrant

Fuji nearly spit the words back at Atobe in response. His blue eyes flashed and Atobe felt his own blood boil at the challenge he saw in those icy azure orbs.

"You forget, _Keigo_. I'm related to them by blood, nothing more. I may seem weak and without connections to you and the rest of the world right now… but know this. I'm not at the point where I'm as desperate enough that the only bonds I have left are through my genes."

Fuji looked murderous. The pale face and fair hair. Not an angel, Atobe knew. Composed with marble features, and sharp instincts of survival to make it this far into a future forged on his own power. This was the _creature_ Atobe wanted… longed to possess body and soul. And… if Ore-sama couldn't have Fuji's soul right away, then the body would have to do.

Atobe's voice was cold, triumphant.

"Who do you have, then? Besides Ore-sama and your relatives? Your phony mad scientists who 'awakened' you?"

There. That should have been the taming blow. And yet, the opposite of his expectations occurred.

And while Atobe had wanted to see more of the beautiful beast, Fuji's countenance changed to that of a doll-like angel's again. Fuji's eyes practically glowed with a hard-edged gleam as T3N541 smiled brightly in response.

"Saa…"

I'm free, aren't I?

…………………………………………….

There was nothing tying him down anymore. No rewards, no benefits. Because Atobe had far underestimated the value of freedom for the patient. T3N5AI had left his family once as the price for independence. He could do it again.

Fuji left the Atobe mansion not at the end of the week, but that very night.

……………………………………………

_April 4, 8:32 am, Office_

The labs were an absolute torture house, especially the (former?) T3N541 wing of the hospital. People who were in on the case of the missing patient smiled fake smiles and learned to suddenly pretend as if they all had absolutely dire crises in their personal lives that necessitated copious amounts of vacation, dopamine pills, and investigator warrants. People who weren't in on the problem were immediately dismissed after the doctors and administration team played staring games with them in cell rooms in hopes of determining whether they knew or not, or, at least, whether they would leave and keep quiet after being written a big fat paycheck.

Whenever the key doctors and specialists involved in the T3N541 case from the beginning saw each other in the hallways, they would either shuffle to opposite sides of the hallway or, straining, avoid eye contact.

It was a general case of frantic, prideful individuals who had over the course of a three days developed severe paranoia towards their co-workers , their work, and, in severe cases, their families (Dr. Maria Hynzkavich's husband had divorced her, convinced she was actually asexual and in love, or at least obsessed, with her job).

It was in this situation that Tezuka decided to seek out Sawada.

"You're _not_."

"I am," Tezuka stated.

"You…you…" The doctor ran his calloused hand through the now immaculately teased hair at the crown of his head. He slammed a manila packet into the mahogany desk in his office. Tezuka watched, immobile, as the older man proceeded to rock back and forth with a dark look in his eyes.

Sawada smiled, his left eyebrow twitching rapidly giving away his false face of composure. "Now, Tezuka-kun, how about we give you a few days to rest first—"

"I'm resigning, Doctor," Tezuka said firmly. "Thank you for everything."

Then, the outburst.

"You're on your way to the Hawser Prize, you foolish—!"

Tezuka stopped the folder from hitting him on the forehead by catching Dr. Sawada's wrist as it swung towards him. The older man's face paled as he realized what he'd just attempted.

"I—I think of you as a son, Tezuka. You are so close, so close…"

Tezuka's hardened gaze softened again. The now quite perpetual creased brow he'd been sporting relaxed as Tezuka took a breath.

"I already have found it, Doctor. What I want…" Tezuka said softly as he looked steadily into Sawada's wounded features.

"But the prize won't be handed out until December. I don't understa—ah."

Tezuka closed his eyes, feeling a migraine coming on. "I don't mean the prize." Seeing Sawada turn red and open his mouth as if in another outburst, Tezuka's gaze steeled again. The older man cowered momentarily from the natural authority radiating from him.

Instead, Sawada blurted, "What about your career then? The rest of the project?"

"He's not coming back as long as we keep this up."

"Well—we were sure! Atobe!!" Sawada's eyes became wide as he remembered the upset they had in searching the Atobe zaibatsu heir's villas. He deflated after a huff. "Well, what about your credentials?"

"I'll work hard later. Yudan sezu ni—"

Sawada cut him off, frantic now, his words hurried and tripping over one another. "But, the prize! The Hawser Prize, Tezuka-kun! You've already been working so h-hard! You were so close… think of the legacy, the people who are going to remember what you've done as a scientist! There was such a good chance of being considered…even a nomination isn't out of reach for you n-now!"

Tezuka watched Sawada as he continued rambling, impassive, not hearing anymore. He didn't want to admit it, but he was sickened. Was there really nothing more worthy of staying in this project? Had the lives of these people, his life too, eventually, always revolved around such selfish, limited concepts?

"Stop, Doctor," the young specialist said, a slightly pained look on face. "I understand…If that's all you want…"

Tezuka reached into his coat, digging out a folded piece of paper. "Then here."

Tezuka put the letter on Sawada's desk. Sawada looked at him quizzically, before snatching the paper up with his hand and unfolding it.

He didn't need to read it. A quick glance was enough, and it left the Doctor's hands trembling.

"Th-this is… this…"

"The Hawser nomination notice. It arrived in the mail two days ago," Tezuka explained.

"Why… didn't you tell me you'd already… oh my gosh, oh… why are you giving it to me… my dear, dear boy! It's yours!" Sawada's eyes were glossy.

"You were the one who travelled all the science field's prominent circles overseas, mentioning me to your colleagues. It's yours. I don't need it," Tezuka said simply.

"No! …No. It's yours, Tezuka. Always. Take it, my dear boy. You deserve it." Sawada's lips were twitching uncontrollably now, between crying and smiling.

"…" Tezuka remained silent for a while, before acquiescing and taking the letter back from Sawada's outstretched hand.

"There," Sawada handed the nomination letter over and patted it firmly into Tezuka's curled palm. "It's yours. Do what you want with it, Tezuka-kun."

Tezuka stared blankly back at Sawada's now benign, flaccid face.

"All right."

Before he quite realized what he was doing, the letter lay torn neatly in two on the imported Persian office rug, leaving a dumbstruck Sawada staring down at the two ornately typed pieces of paper as Tezuka walked briskly at the door.

…………………………………………

_April 4, 4:52 pm, Hotel_

The cell phone had been ringing nonstop for about two hours now.

Tezuka ignored it resolutely.

Sawada had been calling him, no doubt to berate him or to beg him back somehow, now especially since there was less than a week to the court case and Fuji Syusuke was still nowhere to be found.

His nerves feeling raw, Tezuka grabbed his cell phone and pressed the cancel call button. 'The problem with modern cell phones,' Tezuka thought, 'is that the other caller can force a call through a blocker system if they do it through an administrative cell phone.' Sawada had three at his disposal, and the four different numbers (plus personal cell) that had been calling him and were on his call log proved that fact.

Having already opened his cell to cancel the call, Tezuka grimaced at the 21 voicemails in his box. Sighing inwardly, he flicked the voicemail application up and proceeded to watch the miniature projection of a tiny 3-inch Sawada pace around and speak in a magnified, normal Sawada voice.

The projection had no emotions visible on it's face… it was only a prototype after all. But the voice in the message was decidedly emotional. There were about five different sighs of differing lengths before Sawada's voice began to form coherent words.

His first words nearly made Tezuka drop the phone in shock.

"_T-Tezuka…"_ the minutiae projection said with its prototype grin, "_I know._ _You've fallen in love, haven't you?"_

"_You have… you've fallen. In love."_ The repeated statement sounded like an accusation this time, and then Sawada's tone became wistful.

"_I know… I know because you've changed. You used to be such a single-minded boy."_

Tezuka 's mouth was dry. His fingers clenched and unclenched as he stared, unseeing, at the opposite wall of his hotel room.

"_We established that it would be self-destruction to have you fall in love with the test subject. I told you, Tezuka-kun… don't blame me. I __**told**__ you not to, damnit…"_ Sawada's voice trailed off and a series of emotional hiccups followed.

But Tezuka didn't hear past the initial first line. A fast, furious rhythm was building up again, blossoming in his chest, sweeping through his head, burning against his eardrums.

All this was followed by an unreasonable calm.

'Suppose'

'Suppose I could have followed Fuji.'

'Suppose I could have brought him back.'

'I wouldn't have', Tezuka realized.

He wouldn't rewind time and bring him back, because Fuji could never have survived in such a confined environment, with the established rules like a cage around him—a beautiful, crystal glass cage, with the rest of the world cooing at him, with doctor and patient… never really doctor and patient.

They would be physically closer, but the wall that would separate the two would grow to tower over both of them, separating the dimensions both lived in until they were on skewed planes similar to researcher and lab rat.

'I'm sorry.'

'I'm…'

"_I'm guilty, too."_

Tezuka was startled out his thoughts by the recording. 'What?'

"_It's my fault. I never warned you properly. I… I kept all the bad history I have with this case to myself. Maybe I secretly hate this patient. My family… my family has been tormented by T3N541 since a long time ago. M-maybe that's why I'm willing to let him be quarantined for life…"_

The figurine projection became silent, flickering. Tezuka stared at it, numb, impatient to hear, to know. And then it clicked—sometime back, he'd always figured, especially now as Tezuka remembered the secretive words of the wizened senior at the observation deck lab. It had been the very day they'd resurrected T3N541 and begun on this whole wild goose chase to enduring glory. '_"No… no. Dr. Sawada didn't tell you, then? You know, Sawada does have information on the personal case of this patient. More than any practitioner might be allowed to have."'_

The words echoed in his head. That's right, he and Sawada were both at fault now. Both guilty of knowing more about T3N541—no, Fuji Syusuke—than they should.

"…_My great-uncle worked on this case, too. Back when 'Sleeping Beauty' was celebrating his fiftieth birthday. He was a brilliant man… everybody loved him. A real family man—happily married, with a daughter and son, who went to Todai. I near-worshipped my great-uncle, wanted to be a renowned scientist just like him._

_And you know what happened?"_ A harsh, bitter laugh interrupted the flow of words. _"He up and killed himself! I was only seven at the time, but all I knew was that everyone was pitying Great-aunt Tsuko, wondering if the old woman could handle the death of her partner for more than fifty years. She couldn't."_

Sawada drew a shaking breath.

"_Both their children divorced a few years after, and Ryousuke quit his position at a prominent overseas lab to come back to Japan to cope. He had with him his father's diary. And seeing as I'd always adored my great-uncle and was the only one in the family left who wanted to go into medicine and scientific research, he gave the diary to me. There was an envelope inside on the last page…my great-uncle was always such an honest man. T-Tezuka, I trust you can guess what was inside." _

"A suicide note," Tezuka breathed. A truly honest man couldn't have been… would he have been deceiving his wife for such a large part of their marriage…

Sawada continued, his voice harsher than before. _"My great-uncle was in love with a patient…this 'Sleeping Beauty'. He had been, for at least twenty-five years… slaving away on the case just to try to resurrect T3N541 from his comatose state. He'd always spent long hours at work—people used to tease him about being a workaholic… We'd all just assumed it was a combination of wanting to support his family and being passionate about his research. The day he died… they say the poison made him brain dead like his beloved obsession before finally moving on. _

_Tezuka… understand. If not as a professional doctor, then as a human. A whole family ruined and two people dead over a consuming fixation with this…this fairytale pretty boy, this _vegetable_." _

The story left Tezuka cold. He wasn't sure what to believe… the whole thing was ridiculous.

Falling for and dying for a person you'd never met, a comatose patient you were treating, no less. Tezuka told himself it would have been different with him. He wouldn't have thrown away everything just to chase after a brief fantasy, a dream of resurrecting sleeping beauty and then living happily ever after. Sawada's great-uncle had been crazy… absurd.

But with Fuji… Fuji was… Fuji and him were… different… right?

Sawada's voice was shrill in his ear.

"_He's a patient! A test case! Not someone you should be associating with outside your work! You understand me, Tezuka? T3N541 is not a modern day person! Don't treat him like you care about his feelings! Like he's a normal human!"_

Tezuka's fist clenched. Sawada's last words…

A whisper. "You're wrong, Doctor…"

"_I'm not wrong!!! You're wrong! He's a hundred years old through artificial preservation! He shouldn't even be__** alive**__!"_

"But he is."

"_Just because we woke him up! He's indebted to us, Tezuka! What we do to him now is up to us. He owes us this current life."_

Tezuka's mind felt clear all of a sudden, as if Sawada's ranting had swept out some of the reluctance he'd felt to deal with the whole situation. In as calm a voice as he could muster:

"Why did we wake him up, then?"

Sawada's tone was suddenly sweeter, like an adult who was willing to let the child back in the protective folds of his arms.

"_You must understand, Tezuka. There's no love in this relationship. He was our test case. We couldn't just pull the plug on him after spending so much money and resources on this special case preservation. We're scientists after all."_

Tezuka's voice was like ice.

"There has to be love in a relationship, Sawada-san. I wouldn't call myself a doctor, much less a human being, if I treated a patient only to deny him the ability to live on afterwards."

"_You—"_ Sawada's tone was accusatory, biting. "_You plan on falling in love with a hundred-year old patient, then? You plan on giving up everything for a mere fairytale?"_

"I don't plan anything."

'For once in my life', Tezuka thought wryly.

"Love can be there, Sawada-san. The undemanding kindness between a doctor with nothing else to give and a patient with nothing to lose.

There was silence over the phone.

Tezuka continued, gently this time.

"The most important thing right now, '_Doctor_', is to find Fuji. The real, living human who needs more support from us in this century than we may have the ability to offer."

……………………………………

_April 4, 8:48 pm, Hotel _

Tezuka thought it had been Sawada, deciding to bang on his hotel door to get him to reconsider, to preach some more, to force an apology, to threaten him to secrecy… anything.

Instead,

Fuji's face stared back at him.

His small figure was dripping onto the white carpet. Tezuka noticed the torn piece of paper Fuji clutched in one slightly shaking hand. The man's clothes were filthy, with splatters of mud and rain on what Tezuka thought to be an originally whiter and more delicate designer brand shirt. Fuji was trembling, out of exhaustion or something else Tezuka didn't know… didn't want to know because his own chest was being squeezed tightly as if in response. The smaller man seemed ready to fall onto his hands and knees.

Tezuka's eyes traveled up Fuji's frame, which looked ethereal against the luxury of the hotel's fresh wallpaper and dark wooden doorframes. The now dirt-colored hair was plastered to a ghostly pale face. There was a streak of mud on his left cheek above the cheekbone, as if Fuji had wiped at his eye carelessly. His eyes… Tezuka saved those for last.

They were feverish. Feverishly blue. Feverishly bright and lucid.

Tezuka had seen that look before. Masked behind playfulness and sharp wit and defenses that Fuji had piled up one after another to lure astray him, to lure astray anyone who dared intrude into his private world.

There it was. The same face he'd seen the night they'd had their argument. The night Fuji had left.

Fuji broke eye contact, and the silence became unbearable.

All his life, Tezuka had valued the meaning in poignant, quiet moments. He'd come to appreciate the background noise, had found them more valuable than anything words could convey. The sound of the wind chimes tinkling in the cool evening breeze as he and his grandfather silently watched the pink sunset during summers past. The soft crunch of newly fallen snow as he and his mother would sometimes walk home from grocery shopping.

But this was not that kind of silence between two human beings. This stagnation was suffocating, and the beating torrent of rain on his windows held no music, only a raucous drum line that set an impossible rhythm for the quickening _babumps_ of his heart.

"You're… soaked." Tezuka said, numbly, searching Fuji's face because the blue eyes looked downwards—wouldn't look at him.

"Well, it is raining," Fuji said softly, still looking at his feet.

Fuji's left hand still grasped the crumpled piece of paper that looked like a very wet version this hotel's pamphlet. Tezuka assumed whatever was scrawled on it was the reason T3541 had successfully found his way here. Fuji brought his right hand up to wipe the wet bangs from his forehead, and finally, agonizingly dragged his gaze upwards to meet Tezuka's.

"Kind of cliché, isn't it?" Fuji added.

"Hn," Tezuka intoned.

It was. Tezuka couldn't help but agree as he found himself lost in Fuji's gaze. He'd likened it to ice before, but the two eyes were now like water—burning, scalding and steaming water of fathomless oceanic blue.

Tezuka realized it then. The icy gaze had always been for outsiders who'd thought they could see Fuji, understand the hundred-year old legend—but were in reality staring at two reflective, frozen eyes that only revealed the ignorant rapture on their own faces. Fuji's gaze now was almost molten, and his face looked as if it were running a high temperature. Tezuka could see inside, and it was an experience akin to gazing down a deep, watery, boiling spring.

It made you afraid of falling.

Afraid of drowning. Afraid of being scalded.

The taller man stepped quickly into the bathroom and returned with a hotel towel. Fuji accepted it with a half-smile. The white fluffy material quickly became heavy and soiled as the individual coils of fiber clung to the original sheet of towel like drenched and matted fur.

Tezuka struggled inside, watching as Fuji dried his thin arms almost absentmindedly. The feverish look on Fuji's face was still there, and, as if in response, his own heart beat in a fierce, pounding crescendo. The more Tezuka stared at the lithe figure before him, the more his ears seemed to throb with the resounding echo originating within his chest.

It was maddening.

The rhythm of the rain. Of Tezuka's cardio system. Of the towel as Fuji swept it lazily, painstakingly, over one muddied cheek and then another.

"…Come inside," Tezuka said in the sanest tone he could muster. "I'll call room service and have something warm brought up."

Fuji declined with a slow shake of his head 'no', and Tezuka realized he missed the way Fuji's side-bangs swished slightly whenever he moved his head. The unhealthy glow still hadn't left the patient's face, and his honey-cocoa locks were plastered to his skin.

"Take me back, Tezuka—"

The words are delivered like a plea—like a forceful, stubborn prayer.

Tezuka vaguely registers that these are the same words Fuji said to him the night of the party hosted after T3N541 had been revived. The night Fuji had been drunk.

_"I'm tired. I need to go back. I can't walk anymore… Take me back, Tezuka…"_

The scene seemed to drag on with increasing clarity as the past melds with the present.

Heralding an unknown, unwelcome future.

Tezuka looks into Fuji's eyes.

The clearest, brightest blue.

"—Take me back to that place."


End file.
